


Narrator Lost

by phoenixdowned



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fix-It, Forgotten Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixdowned/pseuds/phoenixdowned
Summary: A lion and a stag quietly court. The stag forgets. History shifts.—Or the many and varied consequences of wooing the Prince of Faerghus — as recounted by one Claude von Riegan: mildly disgruntled amnesiac and advocate against poor structural maintenance.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 32
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

Imperial Year 1180 • Red Wolf Moon

The news spread quickly.

If you were a certain type of person, it was almost awe-inspiring how monstrous the rumor mill of Garreg Mach could be. It fed off the whispers of nobles and commoners cloistered together for months, wholly unimpeded by the inconveniences of mail and status. Despite Archbishop Rhea's periodical reminder that the mouths of the imprudent would be their undoing, a small faux pas could easily become a conversational hors d'oeuvre in the dining hall for a week — depending on the mood and those involved, of course.

After all, nothing rampaged quite so ferociously throughout the monastery like new gossip about a precious heir from one of the most ancient and noble houses of Fódlan.

Like clockwork, the beast struck.

On the 3rd day of the Red Wolf Moon, it devoured the freshly cold corpse of one Claude von Riegan.

Well. _Supposedly._

Rumblings of a terrible accident had started not long after lunch and had spiraled into what barely fell short of classroom anarchy. Afternoon classes were filled with muttered conspiracy theories by those who didn't believe any of it _really_ , but also didn't want to work on their introspective essays about the recent Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Underneath that were the worried mumbles of those who were concerned about the fate of the Leicester Alliance and its next sovereign duke who could be dead, mangled or worse.

And make no mistake, there was worse.

Before classes had ended for the day, the knights had been forced to step in to clear the air. All was well. There had been an accident, _yes_ , but only minor injuries had been sustained. So, please, for the love of Seiros, go back to your classrooms or someone will _escort_ you there.

No one really wanted to argue with the wielder of Thunderbrand after that.

The uncharacteristic intervention had tamed the more explosive of the rumors, stopping what could have been a Fódlan-wide headache begun by any noble-born students rushing to pen a letter to their families.

But that didn't mean the beast had been fully satiated.

Mealtime in the dining hall was always a bountiful feeding ground for hearsay, after all.

Naturally, the Golden Deer's table was the rowdiest of the bunch at dinner. Even those students who had transferred classes had congregated with their former housemates to chatter and worry about not one, but two notable absences at the table — which promptly set off another flurry of concern.

The Black Eagles were more subtle about their rumor mongering, seeming to close ranks to discuss the implications of what would happen now or, more morbidly, what _could_ have happened if the prospective Alliance leader had met a grisly fate while under the care of the Church.

The Blue Lions weren't unaffected themselves. While neither as bombastic as the Golden Deer, nor as speculative as the Black Eagles, the Blue Lions indulged in the rumor du jour with a palpable sense of curiosity and expectation emanating from their table.

For they had an _inside_ source.

Her sweet bun bribe clutched in her hand, Annette turned to Mercedes and presented it as a most sacred offering. "C'mon Mercie, I know you had infirmary duty this afternoon! Did you find out anything or did they just kick you out?"

"I have to admit, I'm curious as well if you learned what happened," Ashe agreed, before rushing to add, "Only if you're allowed to say something, of course! We wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

With a guilty look, Annette straightened in her seat. "I...hadn't thought of that. Would you really get in trouble if you told us?"

Mercedes smiled, ever unflappable in the face of her friend's changeable moods. "Well, I was only there until Professor Manuela arrived and she made sure Claude was okay and didn't require two healers."

Across from Mercedes and fully unashamed of basking in impersonal gossip, Sylvain leaned in. "So, he really was okay? The knights weren't just saying that to stop the Leicester kids from rioting?"

Felix scoffed through a rough swallow of fried pheasant. "Like lying wouldn't cause an even bigger scene in the end?"

"You're right, covering anything up this late in the game would make a lot of nobles awfully pissy."

"Shh, shh, shh, shhhhh! Let Mercie talk!"

Giggling at Annette flapping her hands at both Sylvain and Felix, Mercedes elaborated, "Claude was unconscious when Hilda brought him in. She mentioned a head injury, but..." Her smile drooped. "Apparently, one of the newer monks tried healing him right after the accident, which...was a little worrisome. But luckily, Professor Manuela came quickly and was able to rouse him with— Mm, she likes to call it her 'special concoction.'"

Ingrid's nose wrinkled. "Do you know what she puts in that? She used it on me after Hubert knocked me out at Gronder and I couldn't get the smell out of my nose for _hours_."

"Fermented dowria fruit."

Placidly eating his dinner, Dedue merely glanced up to acknowledge the sudden attention. "I believe it's popular in Morfis and Almyra for its medicinal and magical abilities. But because of the strong odor...it's proved to be an uncommon import in Fódlan."

Sylvain clapped his hands. "Okay, we can talk about Professor Manuela's smelly wake up juice _later_. Mercedes...please continue."

Caught up in her own thoughts, Mercedes started. "Oh! Of course. Thanks to Professor Manuela, Claude woke up almost immediately. The wound on his head had been mostly healed and he seemed coherent. But then... Hmm."

The whole table crowded closer at Mercedes' pause, waiting quietly for her to clarify.

"He seemed to have trouble answering some basic questions?"

"Basic questions?" asked Ingrid, before she grimaced. "Forget I asked. We shouldn't even be speculating. We'll know soon enough and we're just spreading more rumors like this."

Annette had no such compunctions. "Did he forget who he was? Where he was?! Ooooh, that would be so terrible!"

"It sounds like something out of a story..." Ashe murmured.

Felix scowled. "This isn't one of your tales, Ashe."

Ashe reddened and ducked his head. "I-I didn't mean it like that! Just...can that happen? Can someone hit their head and forget who they are? It seems so...fanciful."

"Sure they can. The head's a screwy thing. My second governess' son got kicked in the back of his head by a pony and thought he was a foal for a fortnight."

Ingrid glared. "Sylvain, that's because you convinced him he was."

"Ohhh yeah, forgot about that part."

"It was nothing like that," Mercedes interjected gently. "Claude knew who he was and that he was at the monastery. He was lucid if a bit disoriented. It's just... It really was the oddest thing." Her expression clouded over as she trailed off.

The table contained itself for a beat, before nosiness won out again.

"Don't leave us in suspense, Mercedes! I think Annette's about to rip Dedue's arm off."

"No, I'm not, Sylvain! And...ah ha ha, sorry Dedue." Annette sheepishly released the unconscious grip she had on his uniform.

"It's no trouble." Pushing away his empty plate, Dedue turned to give Annette his full attention. "But I see you've taken the professor's suggestion of strength training to heart."

"Oh yeah! At first I was unsure about picking up the axe, what with how far I've gotten into my reason studies, but it was a lot easier than I was expecting? Oh, and your tips helped a lot! Thank you so, so much!"

"Again, it's no trouble."

Felix sighed noisily. "Mercedes, put this fool—" He smacked a visibly vibrating Sylvain on the back and ignored the overblown yelp that followed suit. "—out of his misery and finish what you were going to say."

Mercedes blinked. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking. Time flies so fast at the monastery, doesn't it? I can't believe it's already the Red Wolf Moon."

"Uh, what does that have to do with...?"

"Silly me, I'm not explaining myself very well, am I?" Letting out a small rueful sigh, Mercedes finally reached out for the sweet bun Annette offered. "It's just that when Claude was asked the date, he thought it was still the Verdant Rain Moon."

"Wha— Verdant Rain Moon?"

"You're kidding me. It really is like out of one of Ashe and Ingrid's soppy novels."

"They're not—!"

The table exploded into chatter once more, that gently delivered bombshell whipping up nearly the whole of the Blue Lions into an incredulous fervor.

Nearly.

At the very end of the table, a gauntleted hand stilled in its absent stirring of an already tepid soup. A moment passed. And then another. In slow phases, the faintly trembling grip relaxed and loosened. After a careful exhale, it withdrew from the table, finally releasing a warped scrap of metal that disappeared into murky depths.

Verdant Rain Moon.

"Oh."

——

Imperial Year 1180 • ~~Verdant Rain Moon~~

Claude was...well.

Claude wasn't having a very good day.

...Or was it month. Months?

Wow. Wow, wow, wow, he did not like this. Nope. Not a fan.

Having been abandoned by Professor Manuela for whatever reason he hadn't been paying attention to — which he should have been, he really should have been, he was being _sloppy_ — Claude carefully carded his hands through his hair and promptly hissed when his fingers ventured too close to the place he'd apparently brained himself.

"Try not to hurt yourself any further, dear."

Claude really had to have been suffering from some kind of head trauma if he hadn't heard the distinctive clicking of Professor Manuela's heels long before she strode back into the infirmary.

"Then again, who knows? Maybe that pesky memory of yours will right itself if you jostle your skull enough."

Claude squinted, and then immediately regretted it. "That...doesn't seem like sound medical advice."

"There really isn't any sound advice when it comes to head wounds treated over-zealously with healing magic." Plopping down into the chair at her desk, Manuela stretched her back with a satisfying crack. "Well. Other than, _don't_. Especially with a crest like yours."

Which was true enough. Claude only studied magic long enough to learn the most basic of healing spells (and maybe a small self-taught wind spell), but even he knew that magic of any alignment could addle you up real good in the head if applied in a certain way.

Concussions tended to be a big no-no for novices. Crests with healing abilities were also touchy.

"It's like mixing Andrestian red and Oghma white. You're only courting disaster if you think you can make it work without experience. And the results? Not pretty."

"Perhaps not the most appropriate of metaphors, Manuela."

Seteth swept into the room like some dour undertaker, here to claim the remains of Claude's longshot hope that maybe this was an elaborate if admirable prank by his Golden Deer.

Seteth would never. In fact, he would never _ever_.

Stepping up to the cozy infirmary bed Claude had found himself in, Seteth stood ramrod straight with nothing but business all over his face.

If there was one decent thing Claude could say about Seteth, it was the man sure didn't seem to have time for pity.

Claude could appreciate that.

"Claude." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. For such a serious guy, he was surprisingly casual when referring to most of the students, noble or no. A lot of knights were actually. Royalty seemed to be the occasional exception...though plenty of people didn't seem to have trouble using Edelgard's name.

Claude had yet to pin down if the informality was an underlying power move by the Church to assert equality to the other dominions in the region. ...Or just a quirk of being the authority figure at a school with a bunch of rowdy brats.

Little of column A, little of column B sounded reasonable.

"Manuela informed both Lady Rhea and myself about today's unfortunate incident. And I believe it prudent to discuss your...situation."

Professor Manuela groaned in what Claude really felt was a moment of solidarity. "Really, Seteth, do you have to put it like that? And so soon? I already told you that temporary memory loss was a common side effect."

"And it's not my way to put off difficult conversations. If Claude regains all that he has lost, then I will count us all fortuitous. But until then, we must address the current circumstances."

"And what are these current circumstances?" Claude butted in, already tired of being talked around.

"Before that, I'd like to know what is the last thing you remember."

The kneejerk annoyance of being redirected didn't have time to grow, stifled as it was by a sticky feeling in his chest.

If this was what the desire to be unequivocally honest felt like, Claude had some complaints.

"Last thing I remember, huh..." Weirdly, pulling weeds with Leonie. But monastery chores weren't the best timestamp. "I think... Yeah. Lorenz eating crow at the intermediate lance tournament comes to mind." It had been the pick-me-up Claude had needed after attending that headache of a roundtable meeting in Leicester.

Seteth did an admirable job of stifling his irritation at his glibness, which... _oof_ , definitely ratcheted up Claude's unease.

"I will have to double check, but I do believe the last lance tournament was during the Blue Sea Moon or the Verdant Rain Moon."

"Verdant Rain Moon, actually. Which, and correct me if I'm wrong as everyone I've talked to hasn't been real forthcoming — but I get the feeling it's...not."

"You are correct."

Claude — politely, he thought — waited a moment.

"And the correct date would be...?"

"The 3rd day of the Red Wolf Moon."

Huh. How about that. Months gone in the blink of an eye, dozens and dozens of unknown days lost, countless classes and trips to the library made useless— And all Claude had to show for it was a splitting headache.

With a fortifying breath and the teensiest moment of panic, he took that thought, examined it, internalized it, then got down to business.

"Right then, who's the lucky duck who wants to tell me what happened during the last three moons?"

——

Claude would have to have been missing a whole lot more memory to not figure out Seteth's recounting was a heavily redacted, Church-approved version of the truth.

Which was more of a pain than anything for Claude, who — if this problem didn't solve itself soon — would have to redo the legwork his past self undoubtedly had done.

What a drag. What if he had found some really juicy information about the Church or the relics in the last three months and whoops there it went, tumbling out of his head like it was some foggy dream?

And here he thought his head was the best lockbox he had.

In the same oh-so-urgent discussion, Seteth also made noises about informing Duke Riegan.

Which, one, the old man really didn't need what with how his own health problems were shaking out these days, and two, would probably become unnecessary ammunition for the roundtable if he had to sit in again.

Assuming it wasn't already well on its way to the Five Great Lords' ears.

Ugh, he didn't like it, but he would need to write both Judith and Nader. Judith could get ahead of the gossip if his mishap managed to reach the roundtable in an exaggerated state, and she could provide him a no nonsense summary about the state of the Alliance. As for Nader... He kept contact with Nader as sparse as possible, burning the subtly coded letters he received as soon as he had read them. He didn't think anything big had happened back home, but it also wasn't a possibility he was willing to ignore.

There was also the matter of him literally forgetting months worth of his studies...

Ah, the game of life truly was both grand and cruel.

But that didn't mean he was willing to bow out and surrender his cards. So his odds were a little worse, pfft, so what? He was reaching for the stars already, what was a little more effort?

Getting his affairs into order first would be essential. With a little bit of charm, Professor Manuela could be talked into allowing Claude a few days off. Heck, she might even suggest some time for him to recover and acclimatize anyway, since this was proving to be more complicated than a routine injury. After that... Well. Information was currency, and Claude was fully willing to use his situation to shake down everyone and anyone.

All in the name of recovering his lost memories, of course.

Still not an ideal situation, but it wasn't unsalvageable. It _wasn't_. And who knows, maybe by the grace of the gods (or Goddess, sure, why not) he wouldn't have to go through most of these contingencies.

——

Claude didn't know how long he spent thinking and planning and craving for a quick fix, only that time resumed at a dizzying speed with a hurried knock.

Left to his own devices by Professor Manuela, who had returned to the faith seminar she had abandoned for him, Claude didn't get a chance to answer before a familiar face burst into the infirmary.

"Wow, you sure look better!"

For the first time since he woke up, Claude felt his lips tug up. "Hilda! Why, if it isn't my favorite housemate."

Oddly dressed in her loungewear, Hilda slipped into the room. "I better be your favorite _person_ after what I went through to bring you here. Do you know how heavy you are?" she drawled, cocking her hip.

And, huh. The Hilda he remembered probably would have just gotten the nearest sap to drag his body to the infirmary. Mark that down as something notable.

"Careful there, I'm quite sensitive about my svelte figure." Grinning at his first stroke of good luck that day, Claude beckoned her over. "And speaking of... No one's really bothered to tell me how I ended up with this lovely gem on my noggin." Probably because both Manuela and Seteth had begged off long before the wellspring of questions had dried up. "Care to elaborate?"

Belatedly, he wondered if this was another foiled assassination attempt. Which would be novel if only because it would be the first time for him being a Riegan.

Wait, scratch that. Claude almost forgot that royal romp in the woods with both highnesses.

The smile on Hilda's face disappeared. "You really don't remember? I mean, Mercedes _had_ mentioned something about you getting the date wrong when she walked me back to the dorms, but I thought— You know. You were just out of it."

Claude shrugged. What else was there to do? As tempting as damage control was, the path to information lied with the truth.

"Gotta say it's definitely colder than I remember it being. Drier too. And apparently I don't have to strategize for the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion anymore? Cross that off of my agenda for the year. Now I can focus on not thinking of ways to theoretically skewer my classmates."

Hilda scrunched up her nose. "How far back did you forget?"

"Eh, say...middle of Verdant Rain Moon?"

"Claude! That's almost three moons!"

"I can count! And besides, Professor Manuela said it could be temporary. I might even be able to sleep it off. ...Or something familiar could spark my memory. Like maybe how I got here in the first place?" He put on his best hopeful eyes.

Whining audibly, Hilda hunkered down on the chair next to Claude's bed. "The situations you get yourself in, Claude, I swear."

"I surprised even myself with this one, I have to admit. But with your oh-so-gracious assistance, maybe I can drag myself out."

Hilda breathed out and crossed her arms under her chest. "Okay. _Okay._ You want to know what happened. Right. First off, it was way more than just that bump. You were..." she trailed off, glancing away.

The discomfort of a serious topic wasn't something he was used to seeing on Hilda's face, but teasing commentary seemed...imprudent. Especially after the arm twisting.

"There was a lot of blood, Claude. I know, I know, Marianne told me that head wounds bleed, like, a lot, a lot, but this was..."

Ah. The loungewear made more sense now.

Claude had the queasy honor of feeling both touched and unsettled by the sight of Hilda Valentine Goneril visibly becoming upset over his near demise.

He liked Hilda, he really did.

But the friendship he remembered was just on this side of casual. Their personalities meshed well, and she was always good for a laugh, but he was always careful around her. With how she sometimes talked about east of Fódlan's Locket, he had to be.

But something had changed. There was something about Claude that Hilda, queen of avoiding hard work and troublesome tasks, had found to be worth the effort of carrying his unconscious bloody body all the way to the infirmary.

...Yeah, he really needed to suss out the fuller version of what he'd missed soon, if only to stop feeling like a heel when it came to the connections he had forged.

Being practiced as he was at tucking away uncertainty, Claude patted Hilda's arm. "Hey, it's okay. My head's pretty hardy."

Hilda laughed and they both pretended she didn't carefully wipe her eyes. "It's thick. Your big dumb head is thick."

Name calling he could work with. "Entirely uncalled for. My head is a perfectly average size."

Hilda fluttered her eyelashes. "Not with that hairdo, it isn't."

"Insulting my dashingly tousled hair now? Hilda, here I am, wounded in body and soul and you go after my ego? Talk about kicking a man when he's down." Claude clutched his heart, belatedly noticing his missing coat. Maybe another victim to bloodstains?

"Well then, maybe you should reconsider getting hurt when I'm around."

Other people might have taken that the wrong way, but Claude understood.

"I'll try my best to not inconvenience you," he said with a teasing smile.

"You better."

They both smirked.

The lull after that was a natural spot to redirect back to Claude's question, but... "You know, if it rattled you that much we don't have to get into it. No doubt someone will eventually regale me with how the Riegan heir almost ended the line."

She was his best source, but if it made her this affected, he was sure he could track down someone else who had witnessed the gritty details.

Sure, he couldn't remember what prompted this shift in their friendship — couldn't bring himself to entirely trust it, either — but he wouldn't lie to himself and say it didn't make him feel a little gooey on the inside.

Back in Almyra, he didn't have friends. After the first and last successful poisoning attempt, it wasn't an affordable risk even when he came across someone not immediately dubious about half of his heritage.

But he wasn't in Almyra. And he was Claude von Riegan for the foreseeable future. Maybe, for just a little bit, he could get away with one or two.

"It's okay. It's just. I don't think I've ever really seen you that hurt, y'know? You're so slippery on the battlefield, Marianne, Lysithea, and Lorenz hardly have to keep an eye on you."

Claude had the distinct feeling of everything screeching to a halt would be happening a lot. "Wait, hold up a sec. Lorenz? As in Lorenz 'I live, breathe, and have tea parties with my lance' Hellman Gloucester?"

"Oh yeah," Hilda drawled in a way that gave Claude the impression it was old news. "He's focusing real, real hard on magic nowadays. Reason more than faith, but he's good in a pinch. Especially since Lysithea transferred classes last moon."

"Huh." Claude thought it over. "Just a guess, but was it because of him being trounced at the tournament?"

"Totally! He was so embarrassed he got knocked out in one hit. Which anyone could see coming considering who he was up against, but he was, wow, so devastated."

"So he went in the complete opposite direction, huh..."

"Weird, right? But I won't knock it. He's been super handy on the battlefield. I barely have to do anything now," Hilda giggled, clearly pleased she had finagled Lorenz into her horde of helpful people.

"Yeah, weird..."

Hilda and Lorenz. Two people he was so sure he had a grasp on, changing in ways he hadn't anticipated.

Or at least the him of the Verdant Rain Moon hadn't anticipated.

The gap of the last three months was getting bigger by the minute.

"Alright, enough about Lorenz. I get the feeling he'll track me down later and overshare anyway." A few moons wouldn't have been enough to change Lorenz's habit of boasting his accomplishments to Claude in his singularly Lorenz Hellman Gloucester way of both trying to one-up him and impress him.

Probably.

"You were saying about my accident?"

"Oh, right." Hilda cocked her head, finger tapping her cheek. "So, we were on sky watch together—" Her eyes widened as a disgruntled exclamation caught in her throat. "Which! I just remembered, we didn't even have to do! All the professors agreed that we could put off chores until Thursday because of the battle, but nooo. 'Let's do it now during our free period, Hilda, and get it out of the way!'"

Not even trying to do a decent impression of Claude, Hilda threw a glare his way. "You said you were still keyed up from the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but you were waaaay too pleased. We didn't even win!"

Claude leaned back on his pillow, steepling his fingers against his chest. Seteth had mentioned they were a few days removed from the annual event, but in his very Seteth way, only stuck to the dry facts. "I was pleased with losing?"

"Smug. You've been unbearably _smug_ since we got back from Gronder Field. I mean, who does their weekly chores on the first day and not the last? And drags their delicate classmate along?"

"Sorry for not being a sore loser?" he shrugged, belying his racing thoughts. He couldn't exactly make up an excuse when he didn't know his reasons in the first place.

Which...bothered Claude. Quite a bit, actually.

"Ugh, well it's not like you can tell me now, right?" Crossing her arms, Hilda leveled Claude with an unimpressed stare. "But I'd like to state for the record that you were being _weird_ and I was onto you, pal."

"Okay, okay, noted. If I suddenly remember why I was being a pleasant overachiever, I'll be sure to let you know. Now, should we keep speculating on me being a model student of the Officer's Academy, or could we continue jogging my memory?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting there." Huffing, Hilda continued, "So, we had just started our patrol. The wind was kinda strong, so we decided it would be better if we didn't split up. Good thing, huh?"

Or it might have set the whole incident in motion, but Hilda didn't need to hear that.

"I think some of the knights' mages were running drills? Or, no...maybe it was a reason class doing practicals? Or a seminar? I didn't really stop to ask."

"You said it was our free period, right? Unless you've started slinging spells in the last few months, I'm guessing we stumbled across a magic lesson."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever it was— Point is, someone messed up a Thoron spell. Bad. And it got way too close to us." Hilda folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. "You kinda wyvern-checked me out of the way, but you clipped the old knights barracks in the process. You know, the one that got damaged by that big fire who knows how long ago? Pretty crumbly, dunno why the Archbishop hasn't just fixed it. The Church has to have enough money for it, right...?"

"Hilda." Though it was an interesting question.

"Sorry, sorry." Hilda chewed her lip. "It looked like you recovered, but then your crash must have dislodged something—"

Claude had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going.

"Hilda, please don't tell me I got hit in the head by a brick."

"Maybe a small boulder? A couple of them?"

Yep, if he had his way, no one back home — either home — would hear the details about this.

"Isn't that just a rock?"

"It seemed way bigger than that okay!" Hilda fiddled with the end of one of her twintails. "So you got beaned in the head, your wyvern flipped out and landed and...maybe you hit your head again when you fell out of your saddle? I don't know! You were gushing blood, everyone was freaking out, _I_ was freaking out, a nearby monk tried a couple different spells to heal you, which, uh, iffy move in hindsight, but then you didn't wake up..."

"And then you dragged me here," Claude finished. "And look at me now, right as rain. If maybe a few eggs short of a dozen. But hey, it could have been worse."

Not that Claude was in love with his suddenly lacking memory. But after hearing what had happened, he was lucky his head hadn't become a scattered mess on the ground. That it didn't was probably part luck, part wyvern-guided intervention. If he had to guess which one saved his precious skull—

Definitely had to be good ole Schmooples — she of the unfortunate name and amazing reaction time. She was a spunky old lady not taken out for much other than chores and errands, but Claude had an unreasonable fondness for her.

"You probably had too many eggs as it is," Hilda hummed, already bouncing back like she was allergic to sobriety.

Of course, she had to prove him wrong in the next breath.

"But seriously, are you okay?" Hilda caught his yellow sleeve along with his eyes. "This isn't freaking you out? I know I would be if I woke up and everyone told me three moons had passed."

Feeling himself tense, Claude wondered if the him from this morning would have been as apprehensive with all this naked concern being thrown his way.

Still. It wouldn't do to trample all over it. "Can I really answer that honestly until I get out of here and see for myself what's changed?"

She tugged his sleeve sharply. "That's not what I asked."

"Hey, it's true!" The pacifying gesture his hands automatically sprung into had no effect on the frown on Hilda's face.

Jeez, how many of these heart-to-hearts had they had that Hilda wasn't even willing to entertain his half-answers? Or maybe he had worried her just that much?

Eughh, there was that gooey feeling again.

"If you're asking how I feel here and now..." Claude exhaled and weighed his words. "What can I say? It's a shock. How could it not be? Months of memories, both good and bad gone like—" He snapped his fingers. "But I'm not inconsolable. Maybe I would feel worse if I knew what I've forgotten. Or maybe I'd think it was no big deal. But how will I know until someone tells me? What about the things that no one can tell me?"

That thought, out of everything, made him a little nauseous.

"And it wasn't me being cheeky when I said it depends on what I find outside the infirmary. Just thinking about all the missing information in my brain makes me antsy."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough of it.

Hilda didn't need to know how her genuine worry unnerved him. Or how Seteth's squeaky clean summary frustrated him. Even the talk about Lorenz unsettled him. Lorenz!

There were clearly things he'd missed and the overwhelming urge to find out everything had his whole body thrumming.

Stifling down the squirming mess of nerves in his chest, Claude tried on his best smile. "I mean, how will I ever live with myself if I never tell you the secret of being a happy loser?"

Hilda, dear sweet merciful Hilda, gave him a pass. "Ugh." She dropped the hold on his shirt. "Don't you pretend to humor me. I know you were up to something."

"Ah, but aren't I always?"

Hilda ignored him. "This was like— You remember when you 'arranged' for Raphael and Ignatz to be assigned weeding duty for three weeks straight?"

Oh? "I can't say I do."

"...Crap."

Claude couldn't help the chuckle at Hilda's swift and sudden chagrin. "You'll have to tell me later."

"Sorry. Ugh. Okay, how...how about when the Black Eagles' classroom had to be evacuated and aired out for three days because of a sickly sweet odor? And the mysteriously _sweating_ walls? You were so peppy the whole day leading up to it, like a little kid the night before St. Cichol's Day."

Claude had only 'celebrated' it just the once at his grandfather's estate, but he got the gist.

"So I half-expected you to...I dunno, reveal an archaic rule that disqualified the Blue Lions' win at the battle? Arrange a week off for us to perk up our bruised morale? Convince the dining hall workers to have a feast every moon?"

Claude could feel his eyebrows attempt contact with his hairline. "Wow. You've put some thought into this."

"You weren't exactly being subtle. Not to me, anyway. And you didn't even seem all that disappointed after the battle! With all the trash talk between you and the other house leaders, I thought you would have been at least a little upset, or want to get some petty revenge. But since Gronder you've been so, so—"

"'Unbearably smug?'"

"Yes!"

As easygoing as Hilda was most of the time, it didn't seem too bizarre that his prior behavior was stuck in her craw like this — not once he considered that was the last time Hilda saw the Claude she had grown close to.

He couldn't help but wonder how many of his own secrets were buried with that Claude.

Yeesh, that was a little bit too bleak for his liking. He wasn't dead! Just a little impaired at the moment.

And, again, Manuela did say this whole memory loss debacle could be a brief stint.

Plan for the worst, but don't write off the best.

"Well. If it ever comes to me, you'll be the first to know." Claude held out his pinky, wiggling it invitingly.

Hilda scoffed, but didn't hesitate to catch his pinky with her own. "It's five years bad luck if you break a pinky oath, you know."

"Easy, then I won't break my oath. And, uh, Hilda? Thanks. For the explanation and the speedy courier service."

She squeezed their fingers together. "I wouldn't do it just for anyone, you reckless jerk."

Claude was starting to realize that.

"Also, a future thank you for all the help you so generously offered me as I recover in this trying time."

Hilda groaned and lightly shoved him away. "That sounds like way too much work."

"Filled your quota for the week, eh?"

"Try the month!"

For all her complaints, Hilda was more than enthusiastic to fill Claude in on what happened in the last three months from her perspective. Sure, most of it was baseless gossip, but far be it for Claude to turn down freely offered information. And besides, her rumor mongering provided ample fruit. The hush-hush nature about what eventually went down with Sylvain's brother and all of Flayn's kidnapping had been conspicuously missing from Seteth's brief timeline.

Stolen relics, death knights, and re-enrolled students, oh my.

As she'd implied, Hilda didn't really have any more information about who'd cast the Thoron. But that didn't mean he wouldn't cautiously probe around until he found someone who did.

With his history of attempted assassinations, Claude questioned the theory of a misfired spell on self-preservation alone. Not to say it couldn't have been some overeager student getting ahead of themselves. In fact, Thoron was known as a particularly unruly spell — or at least according to what he had overheard when Marianne summoned the nerve to approach Dorothea for advice.

It was a solid explanation. No doubt the one the Church would lean on if it wasn't entirely clear. Though it would be harder to explain on the off chance the monk who had 'healed' him was in cahoots with the caster...

But, hey, it would be nice if the cause was human error rather than malice. Being paranoid was _exhausting_.

Hilda stuck around well into dinner time, gleefully running with the opportunity to duck out of afternoon classes. She lingered long enough for Manuela to come back with a tray of food in her hands.

"Oh, Hilda! Have you been here this whole time?" she asked, as if she wasn't their professor. "The dining hall is about to close up, dear. You should head down there and get something to eat."

Setting the tray on the side table next to Claude, Manuela regarded him with that wry affection she tended to save for her patients.

"As for you, I know you're eager to scamper away. But I think we'd all feel better if you stayed here overnight for observation. Head wounds can be a nasty business with belated symptoms. And I'd like to see how your memory fares in the morning."

As much as he wanted to get out of here and start taking care of all the business suddenly on his plate, Claude couldn't argue with that.

"And you should know even if your situation hasn't changed tomorrow, we'll do all that we can to support you. So, try not to brood too much, alright?" Winking, she turned back to her desk.

Despite her wildly off-base misconception that he would commit something so melodramatically grim as _brood_ , Manuela seemed like a good sort. Admittedly, she hadn't been his first choice of professor. But that was less of a knock on her and more due to his voracious interest in another outsider who had snapped up the Church's interest far too quickly to be idle curiosity.

"Thanks, Professor Manuela."

"Of course! It's the least I could do for any one of my precious students."

Brushing off her loungewear shorts, Hilda stood up with a bounce. "It's been fun, but I'm beat." Eyeing Professor Manuela with that particular gleam in her eye, Hilda groaned pitifully and loudly. "Today's been so rough and sooo tiring. My body is bound to be in so much pain from carrying you. And then my uniform got ruined! Just—" She sighed, wilting. "It would be nice to have a day off to rest and recover."

Manuela quirked her eyebrow. "You can have a leave of absence for your morning classes, but I expect to see you in the afternoon, Hilda."

Hilda clasped her hands in gratitude. "Thank you, Professor Manuela! You're definitely the sweetest of the professors."

"Hmm, if you say so, dear."

Triumphantly smirking at Claude, Hilda twiddled her fingers at him. "See ya, Claude! And try to stay away from trouble, okay? The unfun kind."

"Hmm, the unfun kind you say?" Claude heaved a reluctant sigh. "I guess I can resist, confined as I am to this bed."

"Don't be a baby and eat your dinner."

"Night, Hilda. Who is most definitely not my mother."

Hilda exited with a parting raspberry, leaving only the scratching sound of Manuela's quill for a long moment.

"I'll be retiring for the night after reviewing these essays," she eventually said, turning back to look at Claude. "But if you need help during the night for whatever reason—"

Despite the clutter of her desk, she took little time to scrounge up a nondescript box. Unlocking it, she plucked a square piece of parchment paper and showed it off to Claude.

"There's a glyph drawn on this. Rip it in two and I'll be on my way immediately."

Well, well. This was magic Claude hadn't seen too often in Fódlan. And...actually not the first example of the day now that he gave it some thought.

He _knew_ he recognized that nostril frying odor when he'd first woken up. 

Not that the smell of the raise dead fruit was something you could hope to forget, even with a head wound. But it was almost a nostalgic moment of turpentine-scented adrenaline when he was ripped from unconsciousness and nearly gagged in front of Professor Manuela and Mercedes.

One magical staple from his childhood he could write off, but two?

He was familiar with summoning runes mostly thanks to his wyvern-riding instructor who had only let him fly alone on the condition of always carrying one on his person. They hadn't saturated the market so much as to become commonplace in Almyra, which was the same for dowria fruit, but his home country had been Morfis' first and best trading ally since the reclusive country had opened its borders.

Claude hadn't been to Morfis himself, but even the novelty magic items imported were little magical wonders — even if they did nothing more than instantly remove clothing stains or enchant an item with music.

From what he gathered, Fódlan magic was wielded in the name of the goddess — in offense, in defense, in mercy, in punishment.

In everyday settings, it was nearly absent.

But Claude could easily connect the dots.

It wouldn't do to cheapen the goddess' blessing with cheap trinkets and chore shortcuts.

It was a pity. Fódlan could be so much more.

But, in the meantime, he'd have to tentatively look into Professor Manuel's supplier of these magical curios he'd rarely see this side of the border.

...Maybe after he resolved his current predicament though.

"And I know it can get a bit dull in here, so there are some books and games in the bottom shelf of the storage closet. I also have some of the reading material I assigned to your class during the Horsebow Moon if you _must_ be proactive."

"Ah... Thanks, Professor Manuela. I might take up your offer a little later." Claude had already read all of his textbooks by the Garland Moon. But brushing up might not hurt.

"I'll leave my copies behind with the glyph. Now eat your dinner before it gets cold! And do let me know if you're feeling any nausea or head pain. Doctor's orders!"

Carefully shifting the tray from the table to his lap, Claude felt only the faintest stirrings of hunger as he looked down at the relatively light fare.

Well. If it was _doctor's orders_ , he could at least try to stomach something. No need to give his body any more opportunities to rebel against him.

Mind racing with the possibilities of tomorrow and the days to come, Claude stirred his soup and idly watched the spoon disrupt his reflection with every pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One: HIPAA violations galore.


	2. Chapter 2

Unsurprisingly, the goddess didn't shine down upon Claude's half-hearted heretical soul that night and cure what ailed him.

Not that he had really banked on an absentee deity to solve his woes. But it would have been a relief that a good night's sleep was all it took for his memory to return. You know, to what it had been before a piece of architecture said _hey there._

Never mind if said night's sleep was interrupted once or twice by Claude upchucking dinner into a nearby basin. 

Despite his lingering symptoms, Manuela had given him the all-clear to leave the infirmary with the strongly worded caveat of reporting any changes, pain, or illness. She also gave him a supply of herbs to stem any future nausea or headaches.

"And please keep me updated if you start remembering anything. That goes for forgetting, too!" she had firmly requested as she saw him off. With how tired she looked, Claude had a hunch that as soon as he left she'd fall into one of the infirmary beds to nap before classes started.

Not that Claude was casting any stones. She was the one who'd trudged into the infirmary pre-dawn, looking like she hadn't slept and kneading her side. When she saw he was awake as well, the discomfort on her face had been overwritten with concern. But Claude hadn't even touched the summoning rune, the scrap of paper still in the pocket he had tucked it into for the night.

From the start, he intended to keep it and maybe have Lysithea take a look, but his second bout of heaving almost quashed that plan with a vengeance.

Alright, so it was a pretty crummy night all in all. Claude didn't so much sleep as doze between retching and overthinking.

As seasoned as he was with sleep deprivation, it made for horrific bedfellows with a queasy constitution and an agitated mind.

...You know what? Professor Manuela had the right idea about napping. His steadily growing to-do list _could_ wait a few hours for Claude to not feel like hot wyvern shit. His classes for the week had been taken care of, thanks to his doctor and professor being the same person. So, that freed up a not inconsiderable chunk of time. Plus, Professor Manuela _had_ been quick to urge him to use the week to rest and adjust.

"Just let us adults figure out what to do about your studies, okay? We're the ones responsible for them after all," she had insisted when she had seen the mess of reference books on the bed.

The adults in the equation being the professors, Seteth, and Archbishop Rhea.

And _oh_ was he curious to see what the head of the Church of Seiros decided to do with little ol' him.

Half-ruined coat slung over his shoulder, Claude emerged out into the north courtyard and ambled back to his dorm as the sun started to peek over the horizon.

Many of the student areas in the monastery were quiet at this time, only a handful of his classmates willing to get up early enough that even the dining hall wasn't open yet.

The knights tended to keep an earlier schedule, many of their number either running morning drills for the day or attending the daily prayer service Archbishop Rhea held with the monks. 

Students weren't allowed to attend those. Which made Claude theorize it was more of a conclave than a sermon. Maybe Rhea's way of ensuring the bulk of the Church's fighting force was faithful and true? There had to be exceptions though. He couldn't imagine Shamir dutifully attending these gatherings if it really was all a show and dance of whose belief was the largest.

As intrigued as he was about the Church's inner workings, Claude was more than content that students weren't required to scuttle into the cathedral and listen to Rhea for more than that hour on Friday mornings.

On those days, Claude slept in as long as possible.

During the rest of the week, he occasionally liked getting up early on his own. Sure, give him a day with no pressing responsibilities and he'd easily sleep until his stomach eventually dragged him out of bed. But Claude would never deny the simple pleasure of waking just short of dawn and poking around the monastery before the morning fog had lifted.

Sometimes, he was even treated to sights he couldn't see any other time. 

Students sneaking out of dorms that weren't theirs. Knights playing hooky. Professor Byleth demolishing the lake's ecosystem without Seteth there to scold her. 

Even if he didn't see another soul, he always tried to find something new. There were plenty of secrets tucked away in these ancient walls just waiting to be found.

And if it just so happened that his walk was uneventful and he found himself wandering over to the training grounds for the view, who could say?

The thought of a quick peek was a tempting one — a little bit of indulgent normality after the day and night he had, but regretfully, sleeping or bathing topped his occasional morning snack. And...apparently he'd already passed both the sauna and training grounds without realizing it.

...Yeah, he definitely needed to reacquaint himself with his bed.

The much too brisk air of the Red Wolf Moon sent a shiver down his spine as he stared down the long stretch of the first floor dorms. After that came the stairs. And then the next row of rooms.

Normally, Claude got a kick out of the Church's backhanded compliance to the Fódlan nobility's demands for more private rooms for their kids. Especially when Lorenz complained about the inconvenience.

Right now, Claude could only bemoan that his grandfather had been one of those nobles.

He was halfway through his first hurdle when a quiet click of an opening door interrupted his feet's single-minded devotion to getting to his dorm. A figure, one part purple hair and two parts fuzzy coat, quietly slipped out of the dorm and scurried lake-wards.

 _Oho_ , now this was a rare sight he couldn't ignore.

Easily gaining on her sneaky gait when the intended destination became clear, Claude summoned up all the pleasantness of a regular morning person. "Hey Bernadetta, you're up early."

"Ack!" Nearly tripping over one of the hedges in front of the greenhouse, Bernadetta whipped around, hands already up in a defensive pose.

"Y-you won't take me, you villain! Enemy! Fiend! I won't go gently into this good m-morning! To, to think you could—" 

Her yelps cut off as her eyes bugged out in recognition.

"Claude?! I thought y-you were— I heard—you had—" She clutched her head, curling into herself. "Was the a-accident all a trick to catch Bernie alone? That would mean everyone was in on it! Plotting! Scheming! _Colluding_ to take Bernie down! How long were they—when did they even—"

Claude waited it out until Bernadetta paused for breath. "Nah, no tricks. I was just coming back from the infirmary. Professor Manuela kept me overnight."

"O-oh."

"So any particular reason you're up this early? Unless—" Claude gasped. "You're the one hoping to catch me alone?"

"N-no! I! Um… I-it's just, it's so nice out in the morning. I can...I can water the plants in the greenhouse without anyone coming in." Her voice grew quieter the longer she spoke, until it was nothing more than a whisper Claude had to lean forward to hear.

"Sounds like a good deal. Well," A feigned yawn quickly turned real. "I won't keep you. I'm just heading back to my room to sleep for the next thousand years." Crossing his arms behind his head, Claude winked. "Give my salutations to the plants, will ya?" 

Bernadetta stumbled over what he assumed was either a goodbye or more reflexive panic. He just waved her off, quickly losing steam and not wanting to stress her out too much.

"Claude!" 

A step away from the stairs, Claude paused at the strained shout. "Hm?"

She flinched, his reply somehow a surprise. "I...I... I'mhappyyou'renotdead!" And through the sheer power of embarrassment, those big beefy greenhouse doors slammed shut hard enough that Leonie might've just gotten a rude wake up call.

Claude stood there, unmoving, and stared at the shuddering dark shape pressed against the stained glass of the doors. 

Even Bernadetta, huh?

Shaking his head, Claude climbed the stairs with a small smile on his face.

——

By the time Claude opened his eyes again, his mouth was dry, his head was pounding, and the bright glare of the late afternoon sun filtered through his windows.

Gods...what month did he wake up to this time?

Blearily contemplating his chronological existence and those lofty dreams of his that seemed oh-so-far away and hardly worth the effort of being awake, Claude stared at his ceiling, every blink feeling like an hour. 

Eventually, a bell tolled in the distance.

Dinner, maybe? Or the end of classes? Or someone who'd scaled up the cathedral's bell tower to personally spite Claude?

Either way, he should get up. 

...After he counted the candles in his chandelier.

Groaning pitifully at his weak-willed stalling, Claude rolled over and inched his way to the edge of his bed until he could easily swing his legs over and stand up.

Navigating through the heaps of books he'd either upended onto the floor to get to his bed or had been down there already, Claude shuffled his way to his desk and practically collapsed into his chair.

Through some unconscious foresight, he'd tossed the bags of herbs from Professor Manuela onto his desktop. With a small thank you to himself, he opened the pouch, grabbed a pinch of them and started chewing. They could be made less bitter with tea, but even if there was a cold pot of — he lifted the lid and took a sniff — chamomile left on his desk, Claude was looking for speed, not taste.

While he waited for relief to kick in, he groggily sifted through the odds and ends on his desk. 

It was more cluttered than he usually kept it, but tidiness was usually the first thing he abandoned when things became hectic. Between the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion and the actual travel to and from Gronder Field, he couldn't imagine the last week being slow.

A half-started assignment was on the top of the stack, but he set it aside when his headache failed to get him past the first few sentences. A pile of parcels seemed interesting until he realized they were simply books he'd gotten from his favorite book merchant. (She only trekked up to the monastery a few times a month, but she knew Claude's areas of interest and willingness to spend his monthly allowance well enough that they had developed a sort of mail-order system.)

There was also a folded up map that took him a moment to realize was of Gronder Field. His own handwriting was scribbled all over it, noting the terrain, the starting positions of each three houses, theories of how the Black Eagles and Blue Lions would set up their front and back lines, the best areas to flank...

But what caught his eye was the writing that was very much not his own, marking the places where the map itself was incorrect.

A little odd he hadn't just written it down himself, but Claude probably found someone who actually knew the area and could spot the mapmaker's faults. Claude certainly had never been that far into Empire territory. But he was—eugh, _had been_ looking forward to visiting for the battle. While the prize and bragging rights had been his main aims, he had also wanted to see where Nemesis and Imperial forces had supposedly clashed over 1800 years ago.

Guess he'd never see it now. Or at least not for a long while.

Bah, it was probably just a field. Gronder was known for its grains, right? It probably wasn't all that interesting.

...But maybe he could commission Ignatz for a small drawing of it.

Tucking the map away with the rest of his suddenly much more extensive collection of Fódlan geography, Claude rubbed his head and— Ehh, his headache was manageable enough now it wasn't a constant painful reminder. But...

He eyed up the somewhat unfamiliar landscape of his desk for another moment, knowing he was dragging his feet.

Claude sighed. "Really shouldn't put this off, huh?" he asked his teapot. Lorenz's birthday gift to him. If somewhat begrudgingly. He'd been dragged to a tea shop by Lorenz with the intent of a _proper teatime education_ and was told to pick a tea set. And well. Claude had chosen watery-eyed kittens chasing butterflies. Truthfully, it was a little tacky. 

Claude kinda adored it.

"Yeah, I know, better sooner than later. Things are already dicey as it is." Leaning back in his chair, Claude allowed himself one last moment of dawdling before getting the supplies he needed. Once he meticulously arranged a sheaf of papers, a quill, and some ink in front of him, he contemplated how exactly to explain this mess to the two people he already owed too much to.

There was a delicate balance he needed to strike that got him the information he was lacking but didn't concern either of them enough to visit.

Judith he didn't necessarily have to worry about. She'd do as she pleased, no matter how carefully he couched things. She would be annoyed at vague prodding or delicately phrased insinuations anyway. 

The Hero of Daphnel was a rare breed, foregoing the viciously proper game the other Alliance nobles played and instead laying all her cards on the table. Such unwillingness to toe the line could have been part of the reason why House Daphnel had lost its seat at the roundtable. But it was more likely the lack of crested heirs over the few last generations causing discord both among and outside of the Daphnel line. Regardless, Judith was still a powerhouse in the Alliance and more often than not, she'd deigned to help the boy who'd appeared out of thin air to claim the Riegan name and maybe even the title.

She had a long-suffering sort of fondness for him ever since he'd impressed her that first visit to House Daphnel. After his grandfather's desperation for an heir, she was the first real asset he had in this country.

So, better to be upfront with her and she'd do the same in return. 

He...just maybe wanted to avoid the inevitable ribbing if she did pop up at the monastery again.

On the other side of the mountains, Claude was almost positive Nader wouldn't risk an in person trip to the monastery himself. As adept as he'd gotten crossing the border undetected back when his mom and dad had their whole cross-country...dance, Nader respected Claude's wishes and delicate position enough to keep the border crossing to a minimum and stay away from Garreg Mach entirely. He was less sure Nader wouldn't risk a scout to pass along a note that offered a meet-up closer to the border. Or a discreet spiriting away if Claude so desired.

Okay, so, storytime. There was a cozy little inn on the border of the Goneril and Ordelia territories where Claude sent his infrequent letters to the one Almyran contact he allowed himself. Said Almyran contact probably had more important things to do, you know, as a _general_ than keeping tabs on a brat that decided to run away from home. But it was quickly countered that said brat was the crown prince (one of a few, _thanks_ ) and that as his sworn sentinel it was his responsibility to make sure his charge came out on the other side of this harebrained scheme alive.

Nader took his oaths seriously, no matter if a five year old had extracted a lifelong vow out of the Undefeated with tears rather than the centuries old ritual. 

Claude might have argued more, insisted he couldn't truly forge his own path with a babysitter waiting in the wings, that he needed to rely on his own strength and wits like his parents had taught him. But what he was doing was risky enough. 

He had hoped... When he left, he thought Fódlan would be different from Almyra. That he'd find a place for someone like him. But his mother's country made no secret of wielding religion like a sword that tolerated outsiders in small doses and only if they fell in line. And as a prince of a country it had long deemed pagan warmongers? It could be lethally stupid not to have an exit plan.

Besides, it wasn't like Nader wasn't getting anything out of this arrangement. Claude knew he got a kick out of finding new ways to traverse the border and had a small obsession with trying Fódlan cuisine.

But where was he? Oh, right. So, Claude had visited this particular inn just after he'd been pronounced the Riegan heir and shown off like a prize horse to the influential houses of the Alliance. That _interesting_ time had doubled as a self-guided tour whenever Claude could slip away and take in his new home. Specifically the parts the nobles didn't want him to see.

The Ruffled Scorpion was run by a little old aunty who was eccentric enough for the area that Claude was half-convinced she had ties to Almyra. Maybe even Kupala or Morfis. Who else would turn a blind eye to a number of their patrons being a little bit too off from the Fódlan norm?

But more importantly, whether it was through deep pockets or the proximity to Ordelia who had much bigger problems to deal with, the proprietress was very good at keeping trouble away.

It seemed as good a spot as any to meet with Almyra's most famous general for lunch. Or to use as a rendezvous point if Claude's time in Fódlan went horribly wrong. Like Claude accidentally inciting a war.

Nader also highly recommended their meat pies.

Setting down his quill, Claude remembered… He remembered that one time he had visited the inn was the last time he'd seen Nader. When he'd said his last goodbye to life as he knew it.

When he had reaffirmed his decision to leave Khalid behind.

"We can leave right now, kiddo. No shame in running away when the deck is stacked against you," Nader had offered, entirely serious even as he shoveled another portion down. "You don't owe your mom's family anything. The Alliance either."

Fingers tapping against the mug of ale Nader had coaxed him into ordering, Claude watched the hustle and bustle of the inn's restaurant from their corner.

There was nothing strange or particularly interesting to see. Just people drinking together. Laughing. Smiling. Gossiping with each other, gossiping about each other. Flirting. Flirting badly. Complaining about someone's loudly crying baby.

Not caring where the person across from them hailed from.

Was this what it could look like across all of Fódlan if its locket broke? Would its throat finally be able to breathe?

"Sure I don't." Claude turned back to Nader, eyes sparking to life. "But I owe it to myself to try."

Nader had just grinned.

It was a good memory.

Between all the reminiscing and word wrangling, it took some time and a few crumpled drafts before Claude was satisfied enough with his efforts.

Hunched as he was for what must have been an hour or two, it was with little surprise that his headache returned, now accompanied by a clawing thirst.

Eyeing his cherished teapot thoughtfully, Claude took a couple more pinches of Professor Manuela's headache remedy and dropped it in. 

Having no real interest in looking for the matching cups or utensils, Claude sloshed the teapot around enough for the herbs to disperse as much as they could. And then, with just a pause to reflect on his etiquette sins, he chugged cold chamomile tea straight from the source until nothing was left.

Somewhere, out there, he was sure Lorenz's and Ferdinand's hearts skipped a beat in horror.

Thirst questionably quenched for the moment, Claude decided to hold off on food for a little longer. He usually had some jerky stashed in his room for those times he got distracted enough to miss lunch or dinner. Nausea allowing, he'd nibble on some when he got back. 

For now, he had a mission.

——

It wasn't until the next day that Claude realized no one had come to check on him.

Sure, Professor Manuela or whoever ran her errands for her had stuck a note and more herbs under his door some time this morning. But otherwise?

Hilda must have told something to someone, who probably told someone else and etcetera, because he was left entirely alone. There was nary a peep outside his door save for the comings and goings of his neighbors.

He couldn't decide if he was lucky or unlucky that that consideration hadn't been extended to today, right in the middle of him tearing apart his own room.

A little after the midday bell rang, a fist pounded at his door and a sunny voice rang out, "Claude, you have about ten seconds to get decent before Marianne and me come in."

"H-Hilda…" he heard Marianne fret — maybe over the less than proper threat or maybe because Hilda might have been strong enough to break his door. Maybe both? Probably both.

"10! 9! 8!"

Claude didn't have to do anything. He was already fully dressed, though not in uniform. Also, his door was locked.

He was just sitting in a little fort of books and papers on his bed, trying to make sense of what he'd gotten up to. All the same, he used the time to tuck away his more important findings.

Once Hilda had finished counting down, Claude dutifully unlocked his door and even opened it for them.

"You're being kidnapped!" Hilda announced cheerfully as Marianne winced behind her.

"W-what Hilda meant to ask is...ah, would you like to join everyone for lunch?

"Uh, _no_. I meant what I said. We're dragging him out whether he wants to or not. No more—" She looked around his room and wrinkled her nose. "—doing whatever you were doing in here. It's time to go out and be with the people, Claude!"

Marianne wrung her fingers, gaze firmly aimed at the ground. "Professor Manuela s-said you were off for a week and that, um. It would be a good idea to see how you were doing. If you, if you had eaten."

Marianne was as hesitant as ever, but this tentative involvement was novel. It was a good look on her, if a bit uncanny considering the last time they talked Marianne had hightailed it away from him.

He miiight have been a bit of an ass though.

Slouched against the door jam with his arms crossed, Claude hummed. "Ohh yeah, I forgot to check in with her."

Hilda rolled her eyes. "She figured. So she sent me and Marianne to make sure you weren't hiding away from everyone like you do when you're sick."

Caught onto that, did she? "I don't _hide_ , I'm just a considerate person who thinks of everyone else's health."

"Uh huh. If you're well enough to posture then you're well enough for lunch. Oh, and I already told everyone you were coming, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me into a liar. Thanks sooo much for your cooperation," Hilda cooed.

Hmm, she was laying it on thick. But he supposed he could try to stomach something more substantial than jerky and tea. "Alright, alright. I guess I can't disappoint my admirers." 

And honestly, Hilda wasn't wrong. He needed a break from his room anyway.

After returning from his little trek, he spent the better part of the night and morning combing over his own room, looking for information.

He tried to be realistic about it, expecting to get more questions and maybe a few answers. But that wouldn't dissuade him from trying to work out what he'd been up to the last few moons.

His book collection was easy enough to go through. It had grown decently impressive that he probably should have looked into getting a bookshelf once books started migrating into his bureau. He found new titles about advanced archery techniques, about Fódlan history, the ancient Andrestian empire, economics, etiquette — a hilariously outdated one on courting. There were a few unfamiliar poetry books, one of which was a newly printed volume from one of his favorite contemporary poets in Fódlan. Slimly bound folktales from Faerghus and Leicester about the Ten Elites were dog-eared and scribbled on. A couple new alchemic tomes were opened next to his mixing stand. And a book about natural poisons he'd thought he lost back in Harpstring Moon was tidily tucked under his teapot.

Nothing really out of the realm of ordinary. He could easily see himself buying or borrowing any one of these books.

As for his more personal belongings... He wasn't the type to keep a diary or a journal and write out his feelings and secrets and basically wait for some schmuck to come along and read it. Not that he would write in this theoretical diary in anything but a code or shorthand. But nothing was foolproof.

So, no diaries or journals.

But he did keep a poetry notebook he scrawled in whenever inspiration struck. The last thing he remembered penning was a copy of that little ditty he'd caught Annette singing in the greenhouse.

Flipping through, there were a number of new entries. One of which was a counter song for Annette that Claude could immediately tell fell short of the original. Another one featured a motif Claude had been stewing on for weeks, putting to verse how the lake cradled a bursting star when the dying sun hit it just right. It was...exactly what he wanted to write, but it was sort of jarring to see a nebulous idea plucked straight from his head and committed to paper without any effort on his part. Definitely convenient, but half of the fun of poetry was struggling to find the perfect turn of phrase.

And then, closer to the end of his notebook, there were some...uh, wow. _Wow._ That...was a lot of smutty iambic pentameter. 

Thumbing through an apparent _series_ of poems, Claude was faintly impressed with the quality of his own work, if a little distracted at how, ah, _graphic_ he got in some places.

Jeez, he must have had some good dreams in the last few months. 

_—an impudent mouth, simply wishing to glean_   
_the skin of above, below, behind, between—_

...Some really good dreams, yeah.

But for less, ah, fanciful things, he did occasionally keep 'notes' for himself — things too valuable to burn or to trust on memory alone.

Good thing too, he guessed.

After investigating the rest of his room, he finally fished out the vellum envelope he stashed under a floorboard he had loosened not long after he had arrived at the Officer's Academy.

Inside was a collection of drawings, lists, and small items with the occasional written memo. His own map of Garreg Mach was the pièce de résistance, always being added to with new areas he charted out and pieces of information he learned about the monastery and its residents.

More recently added to the collection was a drawing of the Sword of the Creator he sketched himself. There was more detail added since he last saw it, no doubt due to him taking every chance to eyeball the legendary relic, maybe he'd even asked—

Wait. Was that—what was behind—

Oh. Were those sketches of a dragon...?

Pressed between two pieces of paperboard, a clearly old but well-made piece of parchment had a sprawl of illustrations of what was either a dragon or a winged beast cousin. It had to have been something he'd found and far too valuable to scribble on if the separate sheet filled with his nigh-unreadable shorthand was anything to go off of.

_The Immaculate One_   
_sent by gddss (tales)_   
_crest stone, diagram, head (body?)_   
_relic src (fn, lor, sotc??, ardb, ?)_   
_transform — miklan? >others (srcs?) _   
_all relics, x improper? 10e_   
_cs w/out relic?_   
_relic w/out cs (t)_

Now this...this was something he could sink his teeth into.

He was certainly a step behind his own conclusions, needing more information about these crest stones and...Miklan? That was Sylvain's brother, right? The same one who'd made off with House Gautier's relic.

As it went, the Blue Lions, Professor Byleth and a small group of knights had confronted the disowned son turned bandit king in Fraldarius territory. They'd dealt with him and his band in a swift if permanent fashion, and wrested the Lance of Ruin back with no casualties and no major complications.

Even Hilda had looked unconvinced as she recounted the story to him in the infirmary.

No doubt something had happened that the Church wanted to keep quiet. But was it something to do with the Immaculate One? No, there was a lot the Church could keep a lid on, but an encounter with a freaking dragon was not something you just hushed up. Something about crest stones then? And 'transform'? Was there a transformation with the relic? A transformation of the relic?

He spent a while trying to puzzle everything together. But there was only so much he could theorize on his own with key pieces missing. 

Some time out and about and talking to his lovely classmates could maybe shake something loose in his head. Or from their lips.

Company besides his own whirlwind of thoughts sounded nice too, frankly.

Making a show of getting himself ready with a lazy stretch and a leisurely perusal of the three (now two) coats he had, Claude slyly watched Marianne hovering anxiously in the doorway while Hilda shamelessly inspected his room and prodded at his things.

...He put away his poetry book, right? 

Covering his sudden horror with a large smile, Claude strode over to the door. "Don't look so panicked, Marianne. I'm going willingly. Unless Hilda really wants to prove how easily she can cart me around?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of hauling you by your ankle," Hilda countered sweetly, attention thankfully diverted.

"Mmm, I don't think dragging my head on the ground is the way to fix my little problem. Suggestion noted though."

Hilda frowned. "Still no change?"

"To be fair, I've been mostly sleeping or, hah, reorganizing my room. But, nope, nothing's come to me yet."

"Um."

Claude and Hilda turned to look at Marianne.

"So...it's true? You've forgotten the last few moons?" The slight frown that was always on her face deepened.

Claude ran a hand through his hair, the strands oddly free without his braid and its usual floofing. "Oh, ah, yeah. Bonked my head and some things fell out."

"I'm sorry, that must be horrible…" And she wilted like the most defeated flower Claude had ever seen.

"Nah, it's okay. Well. Maybe not exactly _okay_ , but it's not the end of the world. I remember most of my time at the monastery. And—" He bent down, trying to catch her eye. "I'm still here, aren't I? Pretty sure I'm still me."

Marianne grimaced, but Claude was almost certain she was trying to smile.

"Alright," Leaning back on his heels, Claude quickly braided his hair. "I'm bound to have that conversation at least twenty more times. So let's get to it, shall we?" 

With how Hilda described his accident — very public, very bloody — Claude didn't even need to wonder if he'd made the gossip circuit yet. It was just a matter of when he wanted to face it.

Yesterday wasn't really the best time, not with the lingering wrongness of not quite feeling like himself. And boy, had he not been up to acting like who he was supposed to be. 

So, his sneaky excursion outside to mail his letters off and take a much needed bath was done when he knew most of the other students were preoccupied. He hadn't escaped completely unnoticed, but the few people who'd seen him hadn't approached him at least.

But he'd put it off long enough. Time to make a spectacle.

Flanked by both Hilda and Marianne, they passed through the dorms and by the lake without incident. It wasn't until they reached the landing outside of the dining hall that Claude started getting some bug-eyed looks and indiscreet whispers.

Claude just twiddled his fingers at them as he entered the building and into the lion's lair.

Lysithea spotted him first.

"Claude!"

Dozens of heads turned in his direction and he couldn't quite help the reflexive laugh as he approached the table usually populated by the Golden Deer.

"Hey there, everybody." He saluted lazily.

And then everyone started talking at once.

"Hey, hey, one at a time! I realize I'm a hot commodity at the moment, but I can only multitask so much." Sitting down in the space Raphael had made for him, Claude nabbed a pickled rabbit skewer from the spread of dishes on the table, just now realizing how hungry he was.

"Is it true?" Lorenz swooped down in the pause that followed, always eager to charge ahead first.

Claude took his time to chew and swallow. Just because. "What's true? Gotta be more specific. I've heard a lot of rumors flying around. How do I know you're not asking about my love life?" 

Lorenz scoffed. "Come now, Claude, this isn't information you ought to be holding back. Everyone is talking about how the Riegan heir has lost his mind. You must agree how detrimental it is for the Alliance that such talk was enabled by your disappearance after such a scene."

Hey now. That was uncharitable.

"And I expect as an honorable noble of House Gloucester you weren't so uncultured as to repeat such unsubstantiated rumors?" he asked, chin resting on the hand not twirling his empty skewer as he looked up from under the droop of his unstyled fringe. 

Lorenz sputtered. "W-well, I, of course not. It would be simply boorish of me to speak of such things without proof. I simply mean to say that as you haven't shown yourself in days, many have made their own conclusions."

"Here's your proof then." Claude gestured to himself. "I'm still the same old Claude. Maybe missing a month or two of time, but I've got plenty others." 

Not content to stay silent any longer, Lysithea shot up in her seat, hands braced on the table. "Three weeks! I transfer classes for three weeks and—you! You promised me you had things handled, Claude! And look what happened!"

Claude naturally didn't remember such a promise. But he was decently sure he didn't have the danger of chores in mind.

Still, it was cute of Lysithea to worry like that. "Does that mean you're gonna transfer back to keep an eye on me?" He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

Lysithea puffed up her cheeks and looked away. "Professor Byleth has…a singular way of looking at things. I still have so much to learn from her." The slowly deepening wrinkle in her brow disappeared as she turned a stern finger to Claude. "But that just means I have to keep a closer eye on you outside of class! You obviously can't be trusted to take care of yourself."

"Aww, my own pint-sized guardian." 

"Ugh! Forget it! You're obviously not mature enough to appreciate my help." 

Raphael laughed. "I don't know what everyone was so worried about! Claude seems just fine to me!"

"You do seem quite unchanged," Ignatz piped in. "But, still, it must be such an odd experience. You said you lost time? Is...is it rude to ask how much?"

"This dummy doesn't remember anything since Verdant Rain Moon," Hilda butted in as she plopped down next to Claude and set down two goblets of peach sorbet — placing the extra one in front of a wide-eyed Marianne.

"To go from summer to autumn in a blink of an eye. It must have been disorienting," Ignatz murmured.

"You're telling me. I had no time to prepare myself for the cold."

"So you really don't remember anything since then? As in nothing at all?" Leonie asked, reaching for two rabbit skewers at once. 

"Ehh, l—"

"Ah, Claude! I am glad to be seeing you well!"

Like dropping down from a tree while a guy was trying to nap, Petra had the singular habit of popping out of nowhere and making Claude double take.

He really should ask her how to do that. Or possibly again, all things considering.

"Indeed! For a while there we had feared the worst." Ferdinand trailed after Petra, taking the seat Lorenz offered as she smiled at Ignatz making room for her.

"Yes, we had been hearing many terrible things about your healthiness. There had been..." Petra thought it over. "Many tall tales."

"Dorothea mentioned she had seen what happened. I tried to ask her more, but…" Ferdinand winced. "Still! It is good to see you up and about."

"I am indeed up and about," Claude murmured, taking in the scene.

He could sense the ears listening, the eyes stealing glances from other tables. Concern and curiosity drawing people in.

He had a lot of people's attention. And not for the reasons that occasionally troubled his dreams.

He could use this.

"And to answer your question, Leonie… Yeah, the last few months are just a big blank in my head," Claude sighed ruefully. "But, you know..." He turned his gleaming eyes to the gathered group. "I'd be grateful if you guys filled me in on what happened. I've heard bits and pieces, but maybe hearing everyone's perspective will help to remind me? Or at least keep me from missing out on all the inside jokes."

All too easily, everyone started to talk.

And if there was a burgeoning warmth in his chest at the sight of his classmates, of his — heh, how about that? — _friends_ , all eagerly trying their best to help him?

For now, that was a secret he would keep to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could write an entire chapter about Claude gawping at all the dirty poetry he forgot he'd written, but alas, I am no poet.


	3. Chapter 3

Person by person, Claude slowly worked out what happened both inside and outside of Garreg Mach Monastery. It was invigorating and frustrating by turns, his mind never so well fed, but still wanting— _needing_ to know every last detail that bled out onto the cobbled pavement. It was a hard-swallowed truth that there would be no way of getting everything back, save the obvious, but there had to be a point when he didn't feel the void in his memory so keenly.

(It was three months. Just three. Not that much in the grand scheme of things. And he did indeed have a grand scheme.)

But most everyone made the attempt surprisingly easygoing. Each encounter wasn't always fruitful, but he didn't have to employ his usual tactics to get people to speak freely. And once you got past the usual gaggle angling for the favor of the presumptive next Duke Riegan, the consideration extended to him was...sort of astounding.

It was too simple to write it off as sympathy. Maybe even too cynical. His own experiences aside, a single session of people-watching relayed the aura of camaraderie that had started to bypass those invisible, but ever-present lines of territory and status. This little bubble where Andrestian, Faerghus, and Leicester folk mingled daily seemed to have some merit to it after all. If you discounted the Church's year long proselytism that it was all-seeing, all-powerful and, oh, had the ruling houses' children under a battle-ready thumb.

But Claude digressed.

With less than half a year to go until graduation, it was plain to see the bonds starting to tie his classmates together, with, fascinatingly enough, a few extending to himself. His own little Golden Deer were tighter than ever, despite some of their number defecting over to Professor Byleth's class. Not that Claude blamed them. He hadn't been resistant to the strange allure of the merc turned teacher from the very beginning. And that was before the Crest of Flames, the Sword of the Creator, and the uncanny ability to teach everything and anything.

Alongside the more weighty questions he had for her, Claude would have loved to pick her brain about archery and wyvern riding. But things never quite lined up for him to get more than a moment to chat.

A lot of his fellow students felt similarly if the apparent uptick in transfers meant anything. Which might have been ego-shrinking to a house leader who took inter-house rivalries more seriously than some light razzing and friendly competition. But if it made everyone play nice? Claude was all for it. And he did so relish the occasional region-specific drama when one of the noble kids switched houses and ticked off mommy and daddy in the process.

Lindhardt and Caspar's double transfer back in the Blue Sea Moon had been a particularly tasty one.

So things were all sunshine and daisies and roses. Or at least amiable enough that most students from the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles were willing to entertain a session of his incessant questioning. Some even gladly, which still gave Claude pause. But he didn't want to push the goodwill extended to him too far. Approaching any of the original Blue Lions about the incident with Miklan seemed foolhardy at best. Not only had the Church personally told them to keep a lid on it, but it was also a deeply personal event for one of their number.

He would, if push came to shove, but if there was a will, there was a way.

According to a very helpful, _very_ chatty Ferdinand, his way was Leonie. Dear sweet painfully straightforward Leonie who'd been tapped for mission assistance that moon.

He waited until she'd finished training with Captain Jeralt, her time spent with the knight never failing to put her in a good mood. As always, she lingered in the training grounds after every session, focused on the maintenance of the equipment used and her weapons.

"Oh, you're asking about that?" Leonie grunted, intent on threading the needle through the split linen keeping the hay contained on the practice dummy.

Not content with idle hands, Claude polished the training bow he'd passed the time with while waiting for Leonie. It felt like it always did — an extension of himself that could reach farther and hit harder — with no latent muscle memory yelling at him to do anything differently than he had three moons ago.

Claude wasn't sure if that was a relief or a disappointing testament of how much he hadn't learned.

"That I am. You sound pre-tty unsurprised."

Hissing at a wayward poke, Leonie sucked her fingertip free of blood. "If I do, it's because I am. You already asked me. Funny how you're back here doing it again." 

He'd have to chat up Ferdinand more often if it got him leads like this. "As thanks for telling me again, I'll teach you how to make my self-made bowstring wax," Claude cajoled.

Leonie's lips curved up. "That's what you offered last time."

"And? Wasn't it a worthy enough trade for a small reminder?"

"After I tweaked it a bit to be more cost-effective, yeah."

Claude snorted. Ever the penny-pincher. "Never change, Leonie."

"Not planning on it." Eyeing her crooked but serviceable work for a long moment, Leonie eventually sighed. "Archbishop Rhea told us it was important to stay quiet, that it would keep panic from spreading. But... Something always smelled fishy about it, you know?"

Claude always thought one of Leonie's best attributes was being able to sniff out bullshit. "That's why I'm asking now and why I asked before. You know me, I can't ignore the rotting Teutates Pike in the corner even if the fishmonger says _nahh that's the aroma of the sea._ "

With a loud clatter, the doors to the training arena opened, admitting an unfamiliar red-haired girl in the Officer's Academy uniform who skipped alongside a much more dour Imperial princess.

Leonie glanced at the both of them before tying off the thread. "Here's probably not the best place though. I don't want this to reflect badly on Captain Jeralt if someone from the Church finds out I blabbed."

Claude mimed stitching up his lips and dutifully helped Leonie put the rest of the equipment away. Once she was suitably satisfied that they left everything better than they had found it, they made their way to the exit. A chirpy giggle and far too chummy coo of "Edel!" tempted a backwards glance out of him, and— There Edelgard von Hresvelg was, in all her Imperial seriousness. Staring at Claude like she'd never seen him before. 

Like a magpie drawn to the curious shine of her eyes, Claude caught her gaze, trying to pick clean the intent of such a grave look. Well, well. Whatever did he do to earn the weight of the Empire? Actually go through with bringing a mouse to Gronder?

A small grounding smack to his upper arm jolted him into conceding the unexpected stare-off. After shooting Leonie an apologetic look, Claude settled on a breezy wink and shallow bow to her Rankled Highness before catching up to his housemate who was already in the stairwell heading down.

No time to see where that particular rabbit hole led today. 

They moseyed over to the Golden Deer classroom after Claude rejected Leonie's first suggestion of the common room ("I don't care either way, but that's where we talked the first time," Leonie had yielded without fuss, following Claude's lead. "We must have not chatted on a Friday then, because that's when Cyril deep cleans all those rooms on the second floor.") and locked the doors behind them, keeping out any wayward housemates. And...damn, what a story. 

His notes made a whole lot more sense now that he'd learned Miklan had turned into a _Black Beast_ after handling the Lance of Ruin. After a little more prodding for details, Leonie admitted that it looked like something had emerged _from_ the Crest Stone and bound Miklan up, transforming him into a grotesque creature with a round gleaming stone in its head.

Transformation. Crest Stone.

_The Immaculate One._

What's more, Miklan didn't possess the Gautier Crest, but he had used the Lance of Ruin long enough to escape his home territory and make trouble in Fraldarius and Galatea. Yet, he hadn't turned into a beast until confronted in Conand Tower.

Perhaps it wasn't just a matter of being able to wield a Hero's Relic with a Crest, but to keep the Crest Stone in line? But then how was the Sword of the Creator wielded without a Crest Stone? 

That was a question he had a feeling he hadn't gotten around to answering these last three moons.

Crests. Crest Stones. The Ten Elites. The King of Liberation. Heroes' Relics. 

These relics were supposed holy artifacts bestowed by the goddess in the War of Heroes. Each one had to have a Crest Stone. Failnaught certainly did the singular time his grandfather showed him the Riegan relic. Meaning each one potentially had the power to turn wielders without their affiliated Crests into beasts with misuse. Perhaps overuse? What about those who had a matching Crest? Would they eventually succumb too or were they immune? Could they learn to use it? Did the Immaculate One harness and master this aspect of Crest Stones? 

What came first, Crests or Crest Stones? Were these Crest Stones truly how Crests were introduced to Fódlan? Or were they made by those who had Crests? Were they fashioned exclusively for The Heroes' Relics? Was there ever a Crest Stone made for the Sword of the Creator? Or was the Crest of Flames powerful enough to bypass the need for a Crest Stone? Was Nemesis able to wield it without a stone too?

Claude hadn't come to the Officer's Academy with the intent to unravel the mysteries of an entire country's backbone. It had been for the connections, for potential allies who could see the rot from both sides and actually want to _do_ something about it. But anyone with an iota of critical thinking could see the current miserable state of Fódlan was tangled up in Crests and the will of the goddess as dictated by the Church of Serios. Nobles with Crests from the Empire, Kingdom, and Alliance were given holy writ to rule because of what was in their blood, passed down and not earned. Each generation it was a gamble if these nobles would rule well. If they didn't, well. Who would step in? Ideally, the royalty. But in this current age, the Andrestian Emperor was fangless, the Kingdom's King was dead, its Prince still technically too young to rule, and its Regent negligent, and the Alliance's Roundtable would argue themselves to death before taking substantial action against a wayward noble. Oh, but they could censure. Censures galore.

Then, if not the ruling families, the Church? Ha, Rhea was far too crafty to expend the might of her knights against nobles behaving badly. She only seemed to personally intervene if they threatened or undermined the power of the Church, and left each territory to (not) deal with their trash. Never mind if the Church and the Seiros faith enabled the abuses of these lords in the first place, it was someone else's problem now.

Being a country whose identity was so wholly consumed by its religion also led to outsiders and nonbelievers being treated as wretched apostates to be eliminated or barbarians ignorant to the grace of Sothis. And the nobles had no cause to question that, not when their own power was validated by the very same goddess.

Claude knew releasing the stranglehold around Fódlan's throat would be no easy task, but possibly dismantling the divine foundation of both government and religion bypassed ambitious and edged into lunacy even for him some days.

Good thing Claude liked meaty mysteries. Because this one was a whopper.

The incident with Miklan and its varied implications would give Claude food for thought for months; a veritable feast of the mind that would take some time to digest properly. But what happened at Conand Tower wasn't the only event of note Claude forgot. On the other end of the keeping mum spectrum, everyone rambled on about Flayn's kidnapping with little provocation. It was no wonder with Seteth flapping around like a wyvern with its whelp missing and the whole monastery looking for her for weeks before it turned out she had never left Garreg Mach in the first place. He learned from Mercedes that she was found in the catacombs with a daughter of an Andrestian baron who'd gone missing last year.

Interesting how the Church never got flak for that.

The reason _why_ Flayn was taken was less discernible. Perhaps it was another cover up by the Church, but Claude could easily swallow Seteth stifling such talk out of sheer overprotectiveness. Either way, unlike the situation with Miklan, it didn't seem like any of the students who'd rescued her knew why.

However, Claude did learn they were short one fencing instructor. Who moonlighted as a skull-masked cavalier with a giant scythe and some serious housing issues.

And here he thought Teach unearthing the Sword of the Creator from Seiros' casket was going to be the highlight of the year. What exciting times they were living in.

There were other interesting anecdotes he heard from both first and secondhand accounts alike. Like an attempted uprising in Duscur — a clearly relieved Ashe informing him it had failed with no casualties on either side. Alois spouted off a very interesting tale about him, Shamir, and Teach fighting back a fake Almyran invasion in Derdriu. Which, uh, would've been something, alright.

He was also mildly interested in hearing how exactly The Battle of the Eagle and Lion had shaken out.

He already knew the Blue Lions had won, but the hows and whys of their victory became clear with Professor Byleth at the helm. Meanwhile, Professor Manuela had sat out due to being _stabbed_ and Professor Hanneman had bowed out in solidarity.

Kinda weird they still let the Blue Lions' professor on the field while the Golden Deer and Black Eagles were both down theirs. But maybe it was due to her being a new teacher? Not that that was indicative of her abilities, clearly, but perhaps that was the justification Manuela and Hanneman came up with. Or they didn't want her to miss out on the one of the most anticipated events of the Officer's Academy.

Or maybe Rhea was interested in seeing her in action.

Disappointingly, the prize Claude had been speculating about turned out to be nothing special. A Blessed Lance which...maybe Leonie could have used? If she wasn't already full up on the pile of lances already given to her. Plus her share of the bow stash. Would Lorenz even want it now? His magic kick was thorough enough he seemed determined to master every beginning and intermediate magic-affiliated class with the intent of taking the Dark Bishop certification exam in winter. So, yeah, not really something they desperately needed. Unlike the Blue Lions where lancers seem to grow on trees.

He also would have liked a better picture of the strategy he had for the battle and how it panned out. And maybe one day he would. Once his game of dodging Lorenz and pointedly asking everyone else about the last three months stopped being as amusing as it was. No doubt he'd have an in-depth critical recap about everything that went wrong in the battle and some back-handed compliments of what went right. But it was almost cute when his face scrunched up like a particularly indignant cat whenever Claude slipped away for a 'prior engagement.'

And — after some arm twisting, flattery, gold, and leveraging his delicate condition — Claude convinced Ignatz to hastily sketch him a small landscape of Gronder.

Yep, just as he thought. A field.

It hardly looked like the place of heroes and decisive battles of ages past, but then, war wasn't like it was it was in those Andrestian-style operas or the mask dances of Almyra. No elaborate sets for the final showdown, no mystical aura of a sacred place. Sometimes, the course of history was decided in a boring old field.

Still, it was a nice picture.

Learning months worth of information within a few days had the predictable effect of distorting time. What was less than a week seemed far longer to Claude. It could have been all that misplaced time catching up to him as his mind started to grasp at a deeper level that it wasn't the Verdant Rain Moon anymore. Or at least framing it that way made Claude less self-conscious about those one or two panic attacks he had about a permanently shoddy memory. Turned out, he would indeed survive the ordeal. 

It occurred to him that he might still be stumbling without his classmates' charitable assistance. But that was edging into sappy territory for him.

It was probably—no, definitely too early to call, but things were beginning to settle for Claude. He'd never completely accept losing almost three months of his life, especially in the midst of an agenda that greatly hinged on his time at Garreg Mach, but the aftermath was starting to look manageable. And he'd keep clawing back every scrap of information he could find in the meantime.

Claude would be okay. 

Just the same, he should have known that life was never content to remain just _okay_.

——

Professor Manuela summoned him before the week was through, this time snagging him on his way back from a quick peek in the library to see if there had been any new additions. Tomas hadn't been anywhere to be found, so Claude figured he'd try later, or at least dedicate a day to refamiliarizing himself with the stacks.

"Oh, just who I was hoping to catch!" Professor Manuela announced, pleasantly spiteful as she pointedly turned around mid-argument with Professor Hanneman. "Claude, dear, I'm a little _plagued_ right now, but if you could make some time at noon in the tea garden? We finally decided what to do about your studies."

Claude glanced at Professor Hanneman, clearly stewing but professional enough to keep quiet around a student. "Sure thing. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

With a sparkling smile, Manuela gently closed the door to Professor Hanneman's study and laid into him anew. Claude beat a hasty retreat after that, long having learned that listening in on their arguments was never worth it.

His studies, huh?

Claude wasn't too concerned about it. Everything taught in the classroom or from a book had been a breeze to get through so far. Magic had always been a weak point of his, but not so much so that he didn't occasionally feel motivated enough to stare at diagrams of casting circles until everything eventually made sense. But after an overview of all the basic skills of warfare, there was very little to stop students from pursuing their interests at the Officer's Academy. The 'very little' in this case being if their professor had strong opinions about which discipline to pursue. But Professor Manuela had always encouraged them to be free spirits and follow their hearts' desires. Not exactly the most hands on approach, but eh. It let Claude focus on his strengths and ignore those pesky weaknesses.

That said, he was a little less confident about what he might have learned out in the field.

Reading and taking notes about tactics and authority and how not to get yourself killed in battle was all well and good, but it was another thing to put theory to use when someone wanted to introduce a sword to your guts.

Not that Claude didn't already have some battle experience under his belt before he lost a few of his marbles, but forgetting three months of missions, auxiliary battles and the Battle of the Eagle and Lion? It wasn't exactly insignificant.

It would be interesting to see if his tribunal came up with the same conclusions as him or just decided to compile past assignments for him to complete and restrict him to being someone's adjutant until they were sure the Riegan heir wouldn't accidentally stumble into an early grave.

Claude puttered around for the hour he had until noon, side-stepping a clearly irate Hubert as he stormed after that familiar red-haired girl who— My, oh my, did she just blow a raspberry at him? 

If she was who Claude guessed she was, then Monica von Ochs certainly rallied admirably from her time in captivity. Oh, it was definitely a front, but he didn't blame her for using a mask if she really did spend a year of her life in a veritable cave.

Still, kinda weird to see her cozy up to Edelgard and give Hubert lip, and the both of them more or less putting up with it. That Hubert hadn't rained down spiky death upon her was his version of putting up with it, anyway.

As much as he wanted to stick around for the show, all too soon the bell chimed the hour and Claude wandered over to the tea garden, snagging himself a table when a pair got up to leave. He had just sat down, idly wondering if he wanted to risk his seat to quickly nab some tea and snacks, when it happened.

The Ashen Demon herself charged past the hedges like a bull moose who'd robbed a library. Riddled with literature, she stampeded through the assortment of tables until she caught sight of her prey—

And plopped down a stack of books right in front of him. 

Eyes glancing from the tower of texts back to the passive face, Claude let the moment hang before drawling, "Is this your way of saying I'm sitting at your table, Teach?"

"I'm here to catch you up," Byleth replied with no preamble whatsoever.

And...huh. _Huh_. This was—

Keeping a lid on the immense interest electrifying his whole body and giving him actual jitters, Claude plastered on a mild smile. "Not that I'm complaining about the chance to learn from the infamous _Professor_ , but don't you have enough on your plate than to be my personal tutor?"

"The pond needs to recover, I'm told," Byleth informed him seriously.

Her lips twitched.

It was— It made her look...human. And less like the porcelain-faced specter he'd met at Remire Village.

Still standing by the table, she began to sort the books into stacks. "Professor Manuela provided me with her notes about your progress. She thought I would be better suited to guide you through an accelerated course."

Claude might have been too busy over-examining what was perhaps the longest sentence he'd ever heard her speak to him, but she continued on regardless.

"Before that—" She shoved the larger of the piles in his direction. "Read these first. Then meet me at the training grounds tomorrow after lunch."

Claude eyed the books curiously. He didn't doubt he could easily tear through the lot with time to spare — in fact, he was pretty sure he'd already read a few of them — but he was surprised she expected the same of him without blinking.

"I don't know what you usually assign the Blue Lions, but this is a lot of required reading in one day, you know?"

"I was told you were a quick reader."

Fair play. It's not like he kept his voracious reading habit a secret. "Hmm, your sources weren't wrong."

Byleth nodded. "He wasn't."

Without letting Claude follow up on _that_ interesting tidbit, she gathered her own books, and turned to leave.

"Ah." She blinked at the ground. "I almost forgot." Swiveling on her heel to face Claude, she dumped her books back onto the table, unearthed a rolled up piece of paper from her sleeve, and whipped it open. "Have you felt any sort of nausea or suffered from vomiting in the last day or so?"

"...Uh. Not recently, no." 

"Dizziness? Shortness of breath? Loss of appetite or vision?"

"No, no, and no." Was she reading a list?

"Headaches."

"Every so often."

Byleth made a small considering noise. "Any changes in your memory? Long-term or short-term." 

Claude sighed. With how much he trawled through his own recollection in the last few days, it wasn't an answer that required much thought. Still, he searched his mind...and found it lacking. "Nothing I've noticed since splitting my head open."

"Okay." She tucked the list back under her sleeve. Picking up on Claude's expectant look, she blinked, then clarified, "If you had said 'yes' to more than one thing, I was under strict instructions to escort you to the infirmary."

Claude suddenly experienced the too clear vision of being slung over her shoulder like a sack of Faerghus potatoes as she bolted across the monastery grounds, just another delivery to make. "Wow. Professor Manuela really doesn't trust me, huh?"

"You're a slippery one. Allegedly."

"I'm pretty offended. Allegedly."

With a nod and another one of those not-quite-smiles, Byleth trotted away, no doubt on her way to knock another unsuspecting student off-kilter like it was her second favorite hobby.

It wouldn't surprise him if this arrangement actually was a way to get her away from the lake for a bit. 

Motivated for his studies for the first time in a long time, Claude spent the rest of the day in his dorm, faithfully going through the pile of books Teach had given him with a single-minded focus. Most of them delved into battle tactics and leading battalions — both general and specialized topics — but there was also an in-depth guide to all the different types of certifications offered at the Officer's Academy and, bizarrely, a recipe book specializing in seafood cuisine.

He still didn't have classes to worry about (probably not until Teach deemed him competent enough to join his classmates) so he had more than enough time to read or reread them all.

He learned maybe one or two new things about strategy and authority and a whole lot about the delicacies of seafood soufflé. Nothing groundbreaking. But he still showed up at the training grounds after lunch the next day, required reading completed.

Nebulous meeting time aside, Teach arrived not long after Claude, loping across the training grounds, apparently never satisfied to just walk.

Byleth nodded at his presence.

"Did you learn anything from the readings?" she immediately asked, normal greetings evidently not taught in mercenary school.

Claude considered. He could wax poetic about understanding the different theses of tactics employed in a multitude of scenarios, but that wasn't the question. "Not anything new, really. But it made me reconsider the flanking maneuver used in the First Mach War. If the Dagdan army had continued to amass strength against the Boramas flank, and used their secondary forces to distract and lure away reserves from Enbarr... They could have used the Morgain Ravine to make a death funnel that might have created a very different Fódlan from the one we know today. ...Also, the uniform you get for passing the Trickster certification is, hmm, to the point."

After taking in everything Claude had to say, Byleth nodded. Leading him to the arena stands to sit, she quizzed him for a time. She asked him about the tactics of different skirmishes, showed him a variety of maps and battle plans, delved into how he'd arrange battalions to their maximum potential... Throughout their increasingly involved discussion, she garnered his opinion about strategies in both historical and theoretical contexts while adding her own comments here and there.

He didn't think he'd ever encountered someone who could instinctively map out a path to victory on a battlefield or a chessboard with a single searching look _and_ took his input seriously.

Claude was genuinely disappointed when she eventually winded down their conversation and gestured him to follow, taking him down a few levels where targets for archery practice were permanently displayed. Most people preferred to practice in the arena with its open air plan, but there were a few lower levels in the tower that housed the training grounds with dedicated areas for disciplines that needed the space. A little more claustrophobic, but they were there for students and knights to use at their leisure. 

After a quick warmup, Teach had him try different kinds and styles of shots with a steel bow. Nothing he hadn't done before, but every so often she offered a critique or a tip that tweaked his technique in a way he decided would eventually be for the better. Once he'd gotten used to the changes anyway.

When she was apparently satisfied, she led him back to the arena and traded him for a training bow, which, ah. Okay, even though he knew full well they were meeting at the training grounds and not the library, Claude hadn't fully prepared himself to spar against the _Ashen Demon_.

Not that he wasn't thoroughly invested now that the possibility had become reality. It was just too bad he wouldn't be able to see the Sword of the Creator in action — for obvious reasons, but still.

Training sword in hand, Byleth stared him down from across the pitch, a courtesy for an archer.

"I'd like you to focus on dodging or reflecting my attacks. Take shots when you can, but prioritize your survival."

She was...incredibly fast for a swordswoman.

Aside from the possibility of flankers and reinforcements, normally Claude only had to worry about cavalry and fliers. But she— Teach could absolutely hunt him down from across the battlefield if she set her mind to it.

The smack of the dull blade against his stomach refocused Claude's attention from the theoretical to the very real.

"Eyes forward."

She fell upon him to slash again, but he turned, both dodging and getting enough momentum to flip and loosen an arrow in her direction.

"Okay, okay, you got my attention!" He sprang back as soon as he landed, putting some much needed distance between them. He was light on his feet too. Lighter with a wyvern, but no certification for that yet.

But she was clearly faster, looming over him before Claude had another chance to draw. 

It was the most predictable of dirty moves, one that every seasoned mercenary had to expect, but before the sword swung down, he tried his luck and kicked up the packed dirt from the ground and used the time she recovered to dodge and take a shot.

She smacked the arrow clean out of the air.

Claude groaned. "Alright, now that's just not fair."

She didn't reply, closing the gap between them again while crouching low to the ground to swipe at his legs. He maneuvered to her left and she chased after him, going for the follow up attack that left her open just enough for him to—

"Don't hold this against me, okay?"

The upper limb of his bow collided with her ribs.

She grunted, hands at odds as one jerked the sword against his shoulder and the other scrabbled for the bow to rip it out of his hands. But he'd already twirled away, setting up another shot that impacted her thigh — a stomach shot if she hadn't moved at the last moment.

If she had a live blade, he would have had a nasty gash on his shoulder, maybe even one down to the bone. But if he had a steel bow, he would have bruised or broken her ribs, and he had the advantage of creating enough space to get off two more arrows that she barely dodged.

Her eyes were cold, but there was something in those blue irises that suggested the embers burning within.

"Good."

And she charged him again.

Claude had enough of a handle on his ego to know he did relatively well, but that she also took it easy on him. Realistically, she kinda had to, considering a decent archer would avoid melee fights in the first place. But she certainly smacked him black and blue the times he wasn't quite quick enough to dodge her blade or when he accepted the tradeoff of what would have been a minor wound for a better shot.

She also had him practice with an axe, which...could have gone better. He'd been meaning to train more with it, he swore! Arrows weren't infinite and using his bow like a bludgeon wasn't always tenable. But it had been easy to put off axefaire in favor of teaching himself another trick shot.

He'd wonder what Teach would have to say if she saw him do his signature backflip counterattack, but on a wyvern. 

...Assuming he didn't have another wyvern related mishap again and fully off himself this time. Freak Thoron accidents aside, his wyvernback trickshots had an average to middling success rate back in Almyra. But that had been almost two years ago when he'd been flying day and night, and only against a dozen clay birds he'd set up in the palace amphitheater.

"You're bored, aren't you?" 

Caught in the middle of his cooldown stretches, Claude craned his head awkwardly to shoot Byleth a confused look. "Sorry? Did you mean battered? Because I feel like a slab of Albinean moose before cooking."

She shook her head, the frown on her face making him instantly wary. "The reading I gave you and what I went over today is roughly what both Ashe and Bernadetta have learned up to this point." Pushing off from the pillar she was leaning against, she stood in front of him where he was still on the ground, mid hamstring stretch.

"Your skill with an axe and melee combat could be improved on, but as a bowman... You outmatch them. Easily." She studied Claude with a slight furrow to her brow. "You might have suffered from forgetting the last few live battles you engaged in. But it's hard to say for certain within the limits of a training ground. But if this was your skill set back in Verdant Rain Moon..."

Claude could feel something, somewhere, balance on a precipice.

"You don't need my help, Claude."

And there it was. The dizzying high and the disappointing fall. It would be the story of his life at this rate.

Face probably doing something against his will and in the midst of formulating some kind of protest, he was soon silenced as Byleth shifted to crouch in front of him. "But your potential is being wasted," she continued with all the certainty of someone who'd been teaching for seven years, not months. "I think Professor Manuela knew as well."

She...wasn't wrong. Claude had been coasting by for months. Which he'd been fine with. Less time studying meant more time researching and poking around.

But there were some times he wondered...

Limbs still awkwardly extended from his stretches, Claude crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands with a sigh. "So, you caught me. Are you going to give me a motivational speech about how I should always try my best and strive to improve myself?"

"I see no reason not to rejoin your classmates as you are. But if you'd like the opportunity to challenge yourself..." She blinked and tilted her head like a particularly curious bird. "I'm free for a few hours on Fridays and Saturdays."

Claude stared. The chilly chagrin running through his veins slowed to a halt and the weighty beating in his chest had to be some sort of resulting heart problem. "That's, uh...quite an invitation you're offering. Is this even above the board?"

"Both Manuela and Archbishop Rhea told me to assess you and proceed however I see fit," she recounted the words slowly, as if she were parroting them. "I've assessed you. I think you can do better."

"I won't say you're wrong, but I'm not sure what you're getting out of this other than surrendering your free time to someone you don't have to teach." Normally, when he ran his mouth off it was in conjunction with his head. But his need to understand warred ferociously with his desire to monopolize the ear of a potential ally he'd been eyeing since that fateful night.

The fickle hand of fate had passed him by when she had decided to teach the Blue Lions in the end. Truthfully, it was a disappointment he still had trouble swallowing. But now that fate was turning in his direction... Accepting windfalls like this without question was a quick way to find yourself in trouble.

"It wasn't my intention when Professor Manuela approached me. But speaking with you…fighting you both here and in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion..." Her gaze averted, remembering something Claude could not. "Dimitri was right. There's something about you..."

Claude balked. "Dimitri?"

"Your strategy was solid, but with more skill and cooperation from your allies... You could have won. You were a worthy opponent, Claude. But you were— _are_ capable of more."

That disquieting feeling of being known flared up again, worse this time. Who knew, a handful of days _wasn't_ enough to get over it.

Claude took a deep breath and forced himself to settle. This was an opportunity, wasn't it? "Ouch! If I take you up on these study sessions of yours, you'll have to tell me just how badly you thrashed me."

Again, she shook her head. "It wasn't an insult. On your own, you easily defeated Caspar and Constance. And then near the end of the battle, you and Dimitri took each other out. You were...resourceful. According to him."

"'According to him' huh? I must have been pretty impressive to elicit praise from the prince himself." But not impressive enough to take his Highness out cleanly or pull off his own plan for the win, it seemed.

Even back in Verdant Rain Moon when his schemes for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion were only half-formed thoughts, he had the desire to face off against either Edelgard or Dimitri. It wasn't exactly tactically sound to go toe-to-toe with them, but he'd been curious in that ego-driven way of who'd win in a matchup. And, of course, he'd wait and see who would take who out first.

The issue with Edelgard was that even getting to engage with her one-on-one was tricky. Even back during the mock battle, she maneuvered herself out of disadvantageous positions until she showed you how dangerous it could be to corner her.

But she had an impatient streak in her, a mostly controlled one, but Claude was sure he could have devised a way to bring it out.

Dimitri on the other hand... Easier to outflank, sure, but getting into melee with him? Baaad idea. He had the stamina and the strength ( _woof_ , did he have the strength) that trying to tire him out was a waste of time. It was better to either strike quickly from a distance or lure him into a false sense of security and take him off guard. The first way would be easy enough with a wyvern, but if Claude was on foot, he'd hang back until the time was right and goad him into a lapse of judgment.

Like most serious and uptight guys, he was way too easy to fluster. Unlike most, he usually recovered quickly and saw through Claude's machinations. But all it took was a moment.

And there was something immensely satisfying about pushing each and every one of the Prince of Faerghus' shiny buttons.

Ah, but Claude wasn't at Garreg Mach for pigtail pulling.

"You were impressive. And one of the few archers I've heard aiming to ride a wyvern into battle instead of a horse. If that's something you can pull off without being shot down or overrun by other close combat fliers..."

It was to Claude's favor that his intention of taking a bow to the skies was considered an eccentricity and not pinned as the Almyran tradition it was. It helped that the Barbarossa tended to be uninvolved with the current border skirmishes, more focused on culling giant crawlers and other beasties who'd absorbed too much magic and ran amok. But if Fódlan and Almyra were to ever have a full blown war again...

Ah, best not to dwell.

"So, what you're saying is you want to tutor me when you don't have to, because you're curious about my potential? Also because I'm apparently the only person you've met to think, 'huh, a bow in the air, let's give it a shot.'"

Byleth nodded. "Yes."

"Is that the same reason you chose to teach the Blue Lions? The sappy potential part, not the airborne archer part."

For the first time, she hesitated. "...Yes."

Not deaf, dumb, or blind, Claude nudged her knee with an elbow. "You're usually a hard read, you know, but you can't expect me to buy that."

More hesitation, before Byleth let out a soft sigh. "Some of the children in Remire Village taught me a counting rhyme. I didn't know anything about the three houses past what you, Edelgard, and Dimitri told me. But the Archbishop expected me to choose so quickly..."

Claude wheezed.

"You! You are— _truly_ one of a kind, Teach. A once in a lifetime opportunity to be a guiding voice to the future Empress, King, or Duke and you left it in the hands of _Eenie Meenie Pegasus Ho!_ "

"It was _Noa Fruit, Boa Fruit_ actually."

Claude flopped down to the ground, stomach cramping with helpless guffaws. Byleth stayed silent, but she sat beside him, her presence more companionable than aloof. "Do either of their Highnesses know? If not, can I watch when you tell them?"

"Dimitri does." She cut a sideways glance to him. "He laughed. Like you."

"Really? I have a hard time picturing that." He rubbed away the few mirthful tears that slipped out from the corner of his eyes.

"He's been less...tense recently. Laughing more."

Squinting at the faintly earnest expression on her face, Claude snorted and conceded. Apparently the blind leading the blind worked out sometimes. "I imagine he's even more pleased with winning the battle."

Byleth hummed. "Maybe so."

Claude breathed deeply, taking in the murky blue sky saturated with clouds as his pulse evened and his heart stilled. He could just hear the monastery residents going about their day, distant with how high up they were. "So… Friday and Saturday tutoring sessions, huh?"

Byleth made an affirmative noise. "I'm free after lunch."

Sitting here like this, worn out and winded from training and laughing, it was easy to forget that Teach, Professor Byleth, the Ashen Demon unnerved him. Just a bit.

It was downright eerie how someone so disconnected from the politics and religion of Fódlan became so effortlessly enmeshed with the upper echelons of both in such a short span of time. _And then_ had a legendary weapon said to have carved up the landscape fall into her lap.

And she didn't even seem to _care_.

Claude had no doubts the horizon was changing. Anyone with an ounce of awareness could see the instability plaguing every corner of Fódlan. And he'd bet his merit as a tactician she'd be a wild card in the coming years, maybe even a portent to victory or ruin.

He wondered which one she might lead him to.

"Alright. I think I can squeeze you into my agenda. I'll have to push back my date with the monastery cats and reschedule pretending I lost all memory of Lorenz, but I think I can manage."

A small puff of breath. Claude whipped his head towards her. Well damn, was that a—?

The squeal of the double doors opening announced the presence of interlopers moments before they came into sight. Either the time Teach reserved for the arena was up or there was no hold at all and they had been simply lucky to not be interrupted until now.

"Professor!"

Side by side, Edelgard and Dimitri strode into the arena, the former regarding them with a particularly pinched look and the latter faltering at the sight of them.

Which, fair. The tableau they made must have been quite the scene. Teach looked as she always did, if sitting still rather than rushing towards another part of the monastery, whereas Claude was down to his tunic and pants, flat on the ground and sweaty. Eugh, was he sweaty.

Byleth nodded at the pair. "Dimitri. Edelgard."

Shaking off her initial reaction, Edelgard met them in the dirt pitch of the arena. "One of the knights said you were tutoring a student, but Claude? Really?"

Shifting back up into sitting, Claude ran a hand through his hair, perspiration dampening the strands down. There were definitely stains under his armpits and at his collar. And the sweat beading down his spine made him want to squirm. Yeesh, he hadn't been this wrung out from training since Nader first ran him through the daily drills of the Barbarossa.

"Yep, me. _Really_. Teach here was making sure I was up to snuff with the rest of our class. And that I still remember the pointy end of an arrow."

"It's not just another one of your schemes, then? That you've lost some time?" Edelgard cut to the chase, her intolerance for glibness in full force today. Without the distraction of a promising lead, Claude noticed she looked more austere than before. Like a newly cut diamond with edges sharp enough to lacerate.

Sour grapes from losing, maybe?

Jumping up to his feet in one fluid motion, Claude stretched his back with a satisfying crack. "You must have heard the rumors by now. Even the head cook called me 'a brave young man' and keeps trying to feed me triple helpings."

"I prefer to ask the source," Edelgard pressed, not giving a centimeter.

"Meaning you want me to admit it myself." Claude rocked back on his heels. It felt like an admission of weakness to his peers, conceding he was less capable. And...technically, he was. Between the three of them, he was at a disadvantage. For what, he couldn't say. The narcissistic competition that fellow rulers often partook in? Maybe. But the fact of the matter was the both of them possessed more information and experience than he did.

It chafed.

"It's true. I've been having some memory trouble. But only over what happened the last couple moons. Don't think I've forgotten the important things. Like your Imperialness accidentally dropping the goddess statuette Teach gave you off the cathedral bridge."

Instead of rising to the bait, Edelgard's lips thinned and she nodded. Reaching into the satchel at her side, she curtly handed him a pouch. "Here, take this."

"What's this? A present? Why, Princess, you shouldn't have." Inspecting the palm-sized velvet bag, Claude loosened the knot of twine and found the familiar sight of herbs. 

"Please, it's nothing of the sort. It's simply a remedy for headaches. A bit more specialized than Professor Manuela's mixture."

Specialized for what? 

"...Huh. Thanks," was all Claude could come up with in the end, distinctly confused by this rare showing of...what? Kindness? Bribery? Diplomacy? Did she have this on her with the expectation of running into Claude or was this something she always had? "Just checking, this isn't a clumsy attempt to poison me, right?"

Edelgard simply rolled her eyes and flipped her hair off her shoulder. "I'll take my leave now, lest I get a headache myself." 

In contrast to her words, she turned to Byleth, looking somewhat discomfited at addressing an authority figure hunkered down on the ground. "Before that, Professor... Captain Jeralt requested we tell you to meet with him in his quarters."

Byleth pushed herself off the ground, patting away any dirt clinging to her clothes. "Understood." She paused, then, belatedly, "...Thank you, Edelgard."

"Of course." A brief incline of her head and off Edelgard flounced, not looking back as she passed them all by.

Byleth turned to Claude. "Tomorrow then?"

She looked at him expectantly, like this whole arrangement was Claude's idea. "I'll be one giant bruise, but, yeah. See ya then, Teach." 

With an agreeable sound, she walked to the last member of their little flock, still hovering closer to the entrance. "Dimitri, I'll speak with you and the class about our mission on Monday."

It was a wonder Dimitri didn't strain something with how badly he startled to attention. Baby blues the size of gold pieces, he quickly composed himself with an impossibly straight back that craned forward into a bow. "Yes, of course, Professor."

"Dimitri?"

He shook his head, smile less tense than it had been. "It's nothing. Just...something I suddenly remembered."

Either satisfied with the explanation or willing to drop it, she patted his shoulder with a stiff, artless air, as if she wasn't quite certain of the motions. "You know where to find me."

Before she could take her leave like Edelgard who'd brusquely slipped past the doors, she gathered up the books Claude had returned. 

And Claude suddenly recalled something that had nagged at him all night. "Hey Teach! I gotta ask... Why the recipe book?"

Byleth glanced back, eyebrow just the slightest arch. "To see if you take direction well."

Claude grinned. "Sneakier than I'd expected from you. I'm looking forward to seeing what you have in store for me tomorrow." 

"Eat light if you have a weak stomach," was all she said. And there she went, leaving the chaos of Claude's mind behind...along with one of her ducklings who was very badly trying to make it seem like he wasn't staring at Claude.

Curious, was he? So was Claude.

"Did you bring me gifts too, your Highness?" Immediately pouncing on the straggler, Claude sank his claws into him. He hadn't seen the prince all week and this was the perfect opportunity to indulge himself.

Still annoyingly handsome, to Claude's continued detriment.

Completely side-stepping the jibe, Dimitri countered the sudden attention by instead studying the clump of training dummies Teach had shoved into a corner earlier. "So, you'll be studying with the Professor on a weekly basis now?" 

Oh, was that what this was about? "Is that going to be a problem?" Claude returned, tone carefully neutral.

Stiffening, Dimitri finally met his gaze with all the seriousness of someone trying to correct a grave misconception. "Not at all. The Professor already asked my opinion. But I hardly see why it matters when it's her free time. Although...I believe she had been quite unsure if you would even accept additional tutoring from her. A silly notion, considering you've mentioned wanting to pick her mind about a variety of things."

Claude felt his interest peak sharply. "Oh, _had I?_ What else did I say?" Just how chatty had he gotten with the Prince of Faerghus? And what information had been offered in return?

As if he knew he was being eyed up like prized prey, Dimitri regarded him with a strained sort of caution. "If I may ask? How much have you forgotten?"

Even back in the Great Tree Moon, when Claude had met his counterparts for the first time, both Edelgard and Dimitri had a disconnected sense of intensity about them. Either caught in the past or focused on pursuing the future, neither of them seemed quite...present.

In the charged stillness of the arena, the look Dimitri pinned Claude with was very much in the here and now.

Like Edelgard, it wasn't—couldn't be simple sympathy for a peer's plight. Something about his situation must have pinged a tender spot for the both of them. That, or the three of them had gotten all friendly-like in the interim, but he doubted it. Not with the way Edelgard had tried to quickly distance herself from doing something that could be construed as nice. Or how Dimitri held himself like a bowstring about to snap.

Claude shrugged casually, finding it difficult to meet that searching gaze head on. "It's not spotty if that's what you're asking. Remember that tournament where you crushed Lorenz and your lance in one swing? That's around where things stop."

"That was the...16th, no, the 17th of the Verdant Rain Moon, just before..." he muttered, hand covering his mouth.

"Before your guys' mission to Conand Tower, yeah."

"...Indeed. It was."

The pause that followed was a beat too long for Claude _not_ to have questions, but the flippant ice breaker on the tip of his tongue was bitten back as Dimitri bowed deep enough to make even Claude apprehensive. 

"If there's anything at all I can do, please do not hesitate to ask," he murmured, the line of his mouth more grimace than smile

Odd, uh, _everything_ aside, carte blanche offered from a veritable prince was a deal too good to deny. And from someone who had a history of not suffering Claude's antics for long to boot. How could he not exploit this opportunity for all it was worth?

"Well, maybe there's one thing you can do for me..." Claude demurred, finger tapping his chin.

"Name it."

He was so earnest, it was cute. It also sounded exhausting.

"I've been gathering up everyone's perspective of the time I'm missing. No one's memory is perfect, even without the head trauma, so hearing about what happened from different people has given me a more complete picture..." he trailed off, trusting the prince to put the pieces together.

Dimitri visibly hesitated. "...Are you so certain that my perspective is worthwhile?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Hearing about Raphael's training regiment in detail wasn't exactly enlightening. But it did beg the question of who exactly on the kitchen staff did he sweet talk into serving him Sacred Beast Roast for a week."

"You were the one doing the sweet talking, if I recall correctly."

"See?" He laid it on thick, voice pleasantly coaxing. "I bet you could tell me lots of interesting things, your Princeliness." Throwing him a wink, Claude walked over to the arena stands, and plucked up his coat from where he threw it earlier. He shrugged it on, trying to stave off the chilly breeze sapping the warmth from his limbs. "And hey, even if none of it is new, people remember the same event differently. And I'm sure you'd spare me the pointless details."

"Ah. I see." He looked torn, like he realized what kind of offer he made to a relentless snoop like Claude. But Claude trusted that delightful sincerity of his wouldn't let him go back on his word.

Clenching his fists, Dimitri exhaled and proved him right. "I'm amenable to assisting you in such a fashion, but..." His rigid stance faltered. "Perhaps not today if you're looking for more than a brief retelling. I'm afraid it's been a...a long week."

When he wasn't doing his best princely act, he did look pretty wrung out. Like he was on the verge of catching a cold. "An IOU then. I'll be sure to collect later. And don't think I'll forget, your Highness."

Perhaps pained by the thought, Dimitri winced. "I expect no less." Fiddling with the gloves under his gauntlets, he continued, tone stilted, "But I ask you to adjust your expectations. I am uncertain if anything I have to say won't be—ah, I suppose... Inconsequential. To you."

Either the prince doth protest too much or he really wasn't looking forward to Claude interrogating him.

Heh, all the more reason to.

"That's a possibility. But how will I know until you tell me?"

Dimitri sighed, the protest draining out of him. "...Fair enough."

"Well, unless you want to get into it right now—" Another gust of wind chilled the sweat drying on his neck and Claude full-body shivered. "—okay, even if you wanted to get into it now, I think I'm going to head off and get cleaned up. Call on me when you're ready to spill all your secrets, 'kay?" 

Another deep bow. Another stern expression. And this was the guy Teach said had loosened up? "Very well. Claude."

"Your Highness." With a flick of his fingers as a farewell, Claude plodded over to the exit, eager to soothe his sore body and lose himself in a nice long soak.

Before closing the doors behind him, Claude caught one last look at the long line of Dimitri's back. Stock-still, he stood in the middle of the training arena, staring up at the sunless sky overrun by clouds.

Later, much later, it was a memory Claude would regret didn't have a different ending.


End file.
